Smoke and Mirrors discontinued
by ErtheChilde
Summary: Original story of Pyro, Ash and Daleigh as they navigate the oddness of mutant high. Discontinued. See "Origins" and "Evolution"
1. Volume One: September 2, 2000

_**Smoke and Mirrors  
**__**by ErtheChilde**_

Blanket Disclaimer: _X-men_ and all its affiliates are the property and the result of hard work by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby. © Marvel Comics 1963 – present. I have no intention of seeking out monetary gains by way of this piece of fiction, it is purely for my own personal joy and the bettering of my writing style. Any attempts to sue me for copyright infringement would be useless. The only character whose existence can be accredited to me is Ashlynn Richard. The _X-Men _movie trilogy, which this fic is largely based upon, is a product of _20th Century_ and Marvel; not mine, don't get any ideas.

Summary: Ashlynn fears people, but most of all herself. Johnny's a hothead with a chip on his shoulder that he wears like a medal of honour. DB's past is a mystery that she doesn't want to unlock. In the events leading up to the greatest war in history, all three find themselves unexplainably linked and facing the darkest parts of their inner selves.

Rating: M for language, violence and certain scenes

Takes Place: Movieverse

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* * *

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_Chapter One: _

"This will be your room," the girl that Professor Charles Xavier had called Jubilee told her, opening the door into a spacious, albeit empty dorm room. The din of the other students' running back and forth through the hallways nearly blocked out the other girl's voice, but she didn't seem to be aware of it as she nodded eagerly for Ashlynn to walk through into the room that would be hers for the next few years.

Not meeting the other girl's gaze, Ashlynn Richard stepped into the room, looking around blankly. Hers was an odd form that somehow didn't seem to belong anywhere within the halls or the room in which she was now standing. Average height, with pale skin and shoulder length dark hair of an indistinguishable colour, her eyes were hooded with dark circles that suggested an insomniac. Her entire form exuded defence as she held herself tightly by her arms, shoulders hunched together as though she expected an attack.

Polished wood panel walls and laminated floors greeted her eyes, as well as the faint smell of peppermint. It was bigger than her room at home had been and lacked the smell of baby-powder that had permeated the entire house.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the perplexed frown overtaking the features of the other teenager, but paid it no mind. She was used to the 'Oh no, not another basket-case' look, as it had followed her as far back as she could still remember. Instead of making a comment, she pulled her flannel shirt tighter around her, as though the reassuring pressure of the fabric tightening against her skin could ward off her companion.

"Classes start at eight every weekday on the dot until three – but obviously you don't have to go today," Jubilee added, her chatter becoming nervous with every second more that Ashlynn remained silent.

The Chinese American began to run her fingers through her long dark hair as though mentally counting down the seconds until she could leave as she continued to list the expectations. For a second Ashlynn imagined that she could see sparks generating. Knowing the circumstances, she probably had.

"…We're not allowed – I mean, we're _strongly_ discouraged from using our powers in classes and in general, but it's not a major rule. I mean, if it was, there'd be no point to showing up here, right?" She noticed Ashlynn's blank stare. "Right." She cleared her throat. "The kitchen's always open, once a week we elect a group of people to do the shopping – cleaning is a whole-house affair. If you ever have any problems, you go to see Storm, Scott, Dr. Grey or Professor X. Oh yeah, and calls home can't be more than an hour long because phone bills tend to pile up and then the prof's have to sell one of us to make up the cost." She paused and waited. Ash's expression remained the same.

Jubilee sighed, disgusted, "That was a joke." Still no response. "Right…any questions?"

"Do I have to share wid anyone?"

Her own, light voice seemed to startle the other girl. Jubilee stared at her for a moment, mouthing the question repetitively, before its meaning dawned on her and she cried, "Oh! Oh, well, usually everyone has their own room here, we're not that many students – but if there's an emergency situation sometimes a student is placed with another. Or you can always apply for a roommate if you're afraid of the dark or something."

Ashlynn nodded and said no more.

After explaining to her the last few rules and telling her that her luggage would be brought up by someone in the next ten minutes, Jubilee left, looking far to happy to be leaving the newest student alone in her room. Ashlynn didn't really mind, nor did she care what the other girl thought about her. In the big scheme, it just meant that it was one less person for her to strive to avoid.

The door closed with a creak, and moments afterward, she slowly moved over to sit on the as-yet, stripped bed, amazed at the amount of silence closing the door managed to produce. The barren room, despite its emptiness, seemed to lull her to a slow sense of calm. The complete lack of personality was to her liking, unlike where at home she felt as though she was a stranger in her own life.

Living at home had not been a hell, but there had been a constricting quality that had always made her feel like a burden. And she wasn't thinking about the fact that she was a mutant either. Unlike the majority of her mutant counterparts, Ashlynn's mutation had been discovered at a young age – with consequences she couldn't remember but knew were dire. It was the reason she had been put with the Lemieux family in the first place. Luckily they had been more favourable to her condition and had searched out help.

She heard her watch beep and glanced down.

Two-thirty. Already and hour had passed since Ginette had dropped her off at Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters; forty-five minutes since the professor asked Jubilee, who Ashlynn had learned within seconds of mindless chatter was on probation for causing fireworks to erupt in class, to give her the grand tour of the house.

Her eyes lost focus on the time, instead falling upon the device immediately next to her watch. Professor Xavier had given it to her immediately upon arriving at the Institute, explaining with a knowing smile that it would help her true self to take shape. She wondered with a frown whether that was the old man's attempt at being clever or if he actually meant it metaphorically.

Whatever his reason, her thoughts were interrupted at a sudden sharp rap on the door and without even being able to reply, it swung open, revealing a large teenager who carried her two travel suitcases. For a moment she could only stare, an understandable reaction, as the suitcases had taken two people to put into the car in the first place – the boy in front of her, barely older than herself, held them both over his shoulders as though they were nothing more than empty boxes.

"Where should I put them?" he asked her, not noticing her surprise at his strength; his speech was only slightly marred by an accent that she couldn't quite place, making her wonder if she wasn't the only foreigner in the school. Mutely, she nodded over into the corner, backing as far away from him as possible as he tread into her room and deposited the suitcases gingerly on the floor.

The broad-chested teenager signalled to her with a terse bob of the head and disappeared from the room, barely a backwards glance as he closed the door behind him. Left all alone again, she exhaled a breath she hadn't even realized that she was holding.

Ash was not a people person, per se. She had nothing against them, as long as they stayed as far away from her as possible. It was one of the reasons that she had taken so long in deciding whether or not she should come to Xavier's. But her mutant abilities had seen to that decision; she was sure that if she could still control them she would have remained at home.

The obvious move was to begin to unload her things, but all she could do was slowly lie back and stare at the ceiling, her mind, for once in her life, completely empty of any focus in particular. All of a sudden the homesickness seemed to hit, something she had never expected to happen to her. Why had she even bothered to come here? Was it too late to ask to leave and go home?

No, she couldn't do that, it would mean having to walk around out there where people could see her. Dealing with the student body was nothing short of traumatic for her right now. She would wait until the next day when everyone was in class and not on a break, then she would go to the professor and tell him to send her home. He seemed understanding enough.

Right.

First thing the next day.

(-)

"Oh good, you're here – we were afraid you wouldn't make it."

Ashlynn's eyes raced from resting on the students to the front of the classroom, where the voice had come from. A young woman with bronzed skin and a long shock of white hair stood at the front of the class, which for all intents and purposes more closely resembled a comfortable sitting room with desks. The blackboard near the window, which opened onto picturesque grounds, contained the topic of that days lesson.

French Revolution, Ashlynn noticed vaguely, before her eyes focused back on the teacher. Reflexively, she hunched her shoulders. She couldn't bring herself to explain that she had been looking for Professor Xavier to try to get out of the school.

"Come on," the woman said, motioning for her to move forward, "There's a seat here at the front of the class."

Ashlynn didn't move to comply; the thought of walking all the way to the front of the class while the dozens of eyes watched her terrified her completely; it was a reflex of hers to worry about stress, to worry about pressure altering her focus on keeping her abilities from manifesting. Even though she knew this was no longer a problem…she shivered and hung back.

The woman was still smiling at her and although Ash couldn't sense any falsity in the gesture, she couldn't make herself move.

"It's alright, Ashlynn," the woman assured her. "We're all equals. We're all in this together. It's alright to be shy – everyone in this room has been there before."

She felt her fingers trembling, a rare pink tinge blossoming over her face at the attention she was getting. The need to run back the way she came and the slightest wish to do as she was being asked rooted her to the spot.

"She can have my spot, Miss Munro," a boy in the corner offered, already standing and grabbing his books and taking the place at the front of the class. He flashed her a brief smile before he sat down and turned to the front.

"Thank you, Bobby," the woman directed at him and motioned for Ashlynn to sit down. "Class, this is Ashlynn Richard. She's a new face here on campus – make her feel welcome, got it?"

There was a loud murmur of assent from the other kids, as well as the curious glances that for once didn't seem judgemental. As though forgetting that her initial aim had been to get as far away from this building as possible, Ashlynn slipped forward into the recently vacated chair. It was thankfully located in the back corner, leaving her out of the gaze of the majority of the class once they had turned around.

"Alright?" Miss Munro asked, going back to the lesson as though it hadn't been broken. "Robespierre and the Great Terror…"

The voice washed over the class, lecturing loudly on the events of the French Revolution and its consequences. Attentions returned to the front of the class, her presence completely forgotten by the others. Surprise, she took in the sight of the class – most of them were busily writing notes on what was being said to them, but there were a few who weren't. She watched in amazement as one of the girls nearby, her eyes not leaving Miss Munro's face, passed her hands over the notebook where words blossomed up from the lined paper. Another, this time a boy, his arms crossed as a pencil danced across the page to its own rhythm. The actions were fascinating.

"So what're you in for?"

The whisper was a harsh one, as though the person wasn't really bothering to keep his voice down. It took her a moment to realize that the question had been directed at her. Her momentary ease disappearing, she bent into herself and glanced hesitantly to her right. A teenaged boy, probably a year or two older than her, with wavy dark hair, smirked at her wickedly. Despite the smile, his dark eyes seemed to remain a cold, calculating intensity that frightened her. Quickly avoiding his gaze, she focused back on the wooden table before her, trying to pretend that she couldn't hear him.

"Hey – come on, what's your power?"

She was saved by answering as Miss Munro's voice rang loudly over the class, "John. Leave her alone." The boy straightened up as though caught red-handed, the look on his face pleading innocence to anything he might be accused of. "She is under no obligation to show anyone if she doesn't want to."

"Then what's the point of being here at all?" the boy demanded, his voice loud and confrontational. There were a series of groans all around the class, and the others shook their heads, muttering.

"Not again…"

"…He's at it _again_…"

"Trust him to start up another one of his rants…"

"Shut up, Pyro!"

"Guys!" Miss Munro called loudly, her voice piercing the negatively charged air around them. For a second Ashlynn thought she saw a streak of lightening pierce the harmony of the otherwise clear sky outside the window. "You all have your voice, that's why you're here. Opinions are meant to be expressed – " she turned to the teen, "We all know your views, John, thank you – but that's no reason for you to inflict them upon others."

"Yeah, yeah," he sat back, looking sullenly at the ceiling as though the lecture was one he had heard many times before. "Respect and holding back and all that other crap, right Storm?"

Ashlynn could only stare; this boy was the type of person that had been the reason she had stopped attending public school. The judgemental, care-free attitude that exuded indifference to everyone was like a sharp, barbed weapon ready to detonate at any moment – and more often than not, sheended up the barb of these jokes.

"John," the teacher's voice was laced with warning, "I don't want to have to send you to the Professor again, especially this early. You can express yourself, but please understand other people's – "

"I've got it already," he rolled his eyes and pointed to the blackboard, "let's just get back to the fascinating Rob-Spear and his guillotining, okay? Chopped off head, delish." He leaned back with the same devil-may care grin, as though daring Miss Munro to do something. "Never mind the fact she might not even belong here."

"Pyro, really, shut up," Bobby called from the front, while Ashlynn could only gaze at her neighbour in bewilderment.

"John – !"

"I mean, for all we know, she could just be some freak anti-social kid that her parents thought was a mutant because she was way weird – some families do that, you know," he mocked loudly, earning a few sniggers from some students and pitying glances from others.

Sitting crouched in the corner, Ashlynn could feel a veiled, numb resentment somewhere at the recesses of her mind, but tried to ignore it. She had never been close enough to anyone to care about their opinions about her or let words get through to her; she had always been worried that the smallest thing might set off her powers and the trouble she might get in had always detracted her. Wasn't it why Xavier had invited her? So that she could explore the possibilities of her mutant abilities?

"…unless it's a really embarrassing power, like, intensive hair growing, or changing your eye color," he continued with a smirk. "Let me guess – you do bird calls, right?"

She pretended that she couldn't hear him, her experience being that when dealing with an unscrupulous personage, the best way to deal with them was to ignore them.

" – Pyro, leave her alone – "

"Yeah, John, get a life."

"Hey, are you listening to me?" the boy demanded, and before she knew it, felt a teasing, rough jab to her back. A tingling, shocking shiver ran up her spine and she felt herself fall apart because of her inadvertent reactions. Moments later screams broke out, the loudest being a yell from Storm to desist, as Ashlynn suddenly burst into billions of pieces, her entire form taking the shape of a shapeless, black mist.

"Holy shit - !"

The teenager – John, was it? – jumped back. From out of nowhere she saw the glint of a lighter, and then just as suddenly a glowing ball of flame exploded into thin air, waving around as though trying to push her away.

Out of the confines of form, Ashlynn felt as though freedom had just been handed to her from all sides, the restraints of her anti-sociality no longer mattering because she had fused with the air. All of her reserves against her powers disappeared as they always did when she disassembled her molecular structure and she turned her attention to the boy, John. Her consciousness was present in each individual molecule, making her feel like a mighty collective as opposed to the lonely, shy student that had mistakenly walked into the class.

Unable to hold back, she vaulted her vaporous form towards John, who jumped up in shock at the sudden cloud of smoke surrounding him.

"John, stop! Ashlynn, that's enough!" Storm ordered, striding towards the back of the class; her eyes seemed to take on a white colour, but Ashlynn didn't notice – and if she did, she didn't care.

Stretching her molecular body out as far as possible in such a small space, ghosting through the flames in the teenager's hands, she settled herself over his entire body, settling into the very skin cells, flying through the bloodstream. She was Ashlynn – no, she was John –

She was in control.

The world was, as usual, strange from the perspective of another. The other students seemed completely in shock at the display, no one knowing what to do in this situation. The boy who had been ghost writing was now gaping in shock, his pen hovering in midair as though frozen.

As she smirked, the gesture more from his consciousness than hers, she felt the boy's skin stretch to form the gesture. The slight warmth in her hand made her look down at the flame, in awe that she was controlling this. Holding it up, she opened his hand, dropping the flame. She barely had time to worry that it might fall to the floor and cause a fire in the entire school, when as though bidden by her thoughts, it flew high into her air, the spherical shape disappearing into a spiral that encircled his hand.

Watching it for a time, she couldn't help being amazed.

She was the puppeteer, the formless black that had overtaking everything in the deepest recesses of his brain. She couldn't read his thoughts, although she could feel the resentment and need to get her out of his body. She would leave soon enough – just after she had made her point. She willed the fire to disappeared and it did, to her amazement.

_'STOP!' _

The voice in her head, coupled by a crippling blast from somewhere sent her reeling and it was several seconds before she realized she had been tossed from the teenager's body and was now fully corporal once again, lying prone on the floor. Across the room, John shook his head, dazed. She knew it hadn't been him to toss her out, as the only person she had ever met capable of doing that had been Professor Xavier.

_'Ashlynn, St-John – the two of you are to report to my office immediately. We have a few things to discuss. Now.' _

With a resentful glare in her direction, John stood up and lumbered out of the room. At a loss of what else to do, Ashlynn slowly stood as well. Glancing around the classroom, she realized that the majority of her classmates were watching her with some kind of awed terror and shock. Storm's lips were pursed in a manner that told her that the teacher was disappointed, but also reassured her that everything would be fine.

Without another glance, she too strode from the room in search of the Professor's office.

(-)

"Need I say that I am exceedingly disappointed with the two of you?"

Charles Xavier wheeled his way across the room where Ashlynn and John were seated, both looking anywhere but at each other and the professor. His office, like the rest of the rooms in the school, was richly furnished and cleaned, making Ashlynn think of what her grandparent's home might have looked like – if she knew who they were.

"St-John, you I expect this from – I am not saying I condone it, quite the opposite," the old man pronounced shrewdly, a frown of disappointment etched deep into the lines of his face in a way that told Ash that this was not the first, nor would it be the last time that the other teen was in this office, in trouble. "That being said, Ashlynn, I am very surprised that you of all people would have risen to his bait. Were you not the one who wished to come here in order to keep your powers at bay, not use them needlessly against others?"

She didn't reply, knowing that she wouldn't have to. The man could see into her mind well enough.

_'Be that as it may, getting angry is not a sufficient reason to use your gifts. And especially with the nature of your power – we do not impose our will upon others here. Even myself, though I have that ability, would never dare carry that out unless under the most dire of circumstances. And even then, there is an allowance.' _

She sighed in response, nodding. All of a sudden she felt the shame and dislike of her abilities run through her system at full throttle. She hadn't even wanted to go into the class, let alone get in a fight with someone or draw attention to herself. And she had done just that.

"John, you know that we do not force anyone into conflict or compel them to use their powers," the professor reprimanded her companion. "And Ashlynn, the number one rule of this school is that we do not use our abilities to cause harm to any other student. That's not why you are here. You are here to learn to control yourselves and prepare for a better future. In real life, you can not simply force someone to see your point of view or to follow a course of action that you yourself have ascribed to."

The two of them both nodded, although Ashlynn was speculative on whether or not the fire-controlling teen actually cared about what he was being told. The sullen scowl was enough to make her think he was merely agreeing with everything just so that he could get out of the office and away from the professor's scrutiny as quickly as possible.

The professor sighed and looked out the window, a frown on his face. "That is all. You may go – Ashlynn, not you. There is a matter I would like to discuss with you, if you don't mind."

Even if she did, it wasn't as though she could very well walk out on the man, Ashlynn thought bitterly, before reprimanding herself when she noticed Professor Xavier's expression. She would have to learn very quickly to keep her thoughts at least somewhat respectable…

"No, that's quite alright," the man chuckled, his stern expression disappearing almost immediately once John left the office, slamming the door on his way out. "I do not make a point of reading the thoughts of my students – it's rude, and besides, there are so many of you I would have to concentrate just to pluck one thought from the other. Your thoughts are completely private, don't you worry."

Ashlynn felt as though at least one thing was turning out that day.

"Now, I believe you wanted to see me this morning concerning your presence here," the old man said matter-of-factly, folding his hands in his lap. He guided his chair forward and smiled warmly at her. "Do you still feel the same way about leaving as you did this morning?"

She was ready to say that she was, but another thought pushed that feeling from her mind momentarily. That morning she had been completely convinced that she didn't belong in Xavier's school, that she didn't want to be around these people and that she was better off being home schooled back in St-Adele. But now, especially after the altercation with that Pyro kid, she felt, at least slightly, that if she went back now, it might happen again. Chances were that somewhere out there was a kid like him who would goad on her until she lost it and let loose on her powers. At least here if she did it she would get a mild reprimand instead of being lynched.

Xavier smiled. "Does that mean you will give it a chance?"

Ashlynn glanced up at him, a wan, sarcastic smile on her face. Despite having only met with him on two previous occasions, there was immediately a wary respect for the man. She especially liked the way he didn't expect her to or try to force her to speak. Perhaps it was because he was a telepath and perhaps he was merely an intuitive man. Either way, there was some manner of comfort in his eyes that again reminded her of a grandfatherly gaze.

Lowering her eyes she nodded. It wouldn't kill her to wait it out a little.

* * *

To Be Continued… 


	2. Volume One: September 3, 2000

**_Smoke and Mirrors  
__by ErtheChilde_**

_

* * *

Chapter Two: _

_Maman and Papa didn't know that she was hiding in the closet; if they did, she knew that they would have driven her upstairs. It wasn't her fault that she was there anyway, Olivier and Christophe had told her to hide there while Gabriel counted. They always complained that she gave away their hiding spots when she hid with them, something she didn't do purposely. It wasn't her fault she got antsy… _

_She didn't like hiding all alone in the closet, it was small and dark. But still, outside she could hear voices. Even though they were in the living room, she could hear what was going on – Papa was speaking rapidly with someone she hadn't seen yet. Probably another "specialist". She hated them, they always poked and prodded her like she was an old toy._

"_Est-ce-qu'il y a quelque chose qu'on pourrons faire?"__ she heard her mother ask tentatively, her voice high and frightened. For a moment, Ashlynn forgot that she didn't want to be hiding in the closet and strained her ears for the response.(1)_

_There was none for a moment, before her father suddenly demanded something of the visitor in English. Whoever it was replied quickly and evenly, not in the least perturbed by the fright of Ashlynn's mother or her father's anger._

"_Et c'est quoi votre taux de succés, Monsiuer-Le-Professeur? Combien de ces enfants aviez vous guéri ?"(__2)_

_The stranger cleared his throat again and spoke again, keeping his voice controlled; Ashlynn could sense a note of annoyed patience though. For a few moments he was uninterrupted, before her father exploded self-importantly, "Merci monsieur, mais ca souffit. C'est juste un conspiration pour que notre fille fait partager a votre ecole, non? Je regrette, mais j'ai aucune veux qu'elle s'expose de les autres qui pourrons avoir cette maladie. Je ne croit pas en ce _mutant _baliverne. Merci pour expliquer ce qui ce passe avec notre petite, mais si vous ne pouvais pas gueri la maladie, je pense quelle doit rester chez nous. Notre famille n'est pas pauvre, Monsieur. Je t'assure que nous trouverons une solution a cette probleme. __"(3)_

_Belatedly, she realized that they were talking about her. So this _was_ another specialist. What was a mutant, anyway? She made a face and reached for the doorknob, wanting to see who it was her parents were talking to about her. It took a second or two to locate it, in which the man had begun to talk again, but when she did she was shocked to find it was locked._

_Panicked, she jingled the handle, wondering if her brothers might have accidentally locked her in when they left her there. Or maybe it had been Berthe, the maid, who had walked by a little while ago? _

_She felt a lump in her throat, a dry cry threatening to escape as she realized that she was locked in. She wanted to cry out for someone to come and get her, but remembered just in time that she was supposed to be outside with her brothers playing. If her parents realized that she was inside she would get in trouble – and then her brothers would call her a cry baby, something she refused. She was not! She was just as good as them._

_Scrunching down onto the ground to where the small sliver of light flashed under the door, she poked her finger through, hoping that maybe Berthe might come by and see her fingers through the door. A moment later she pulled them back, remembering that Berthe was upstairs shaking out the duvets. She was all alone in the dark of the closet._

_A barely concealed whine began at the back of her throat and actually managed to escape. When no one noticed, she was filled with fright that they might not even realize she was gone, or worse, might not hear her even if she screamed._

_Papa continued to talk as though there was nothing to bother him. "Merci pour votre offer genereuz, mais non. Et puis – si vous etre si agreable – laisser ma maison."(__4)_

_She began to cry, hitting the door with her small fists and jingling the handle. Still, no one seemed to hear. _

"_Maman! Papa! Je suis ici! Aidez-moi! Maman! _Maman!" _she yelled, waiting for her parents to realize that she was crying out for them.(5)_

_They couldn't hear her over her father's shouting. "C'est un truc – j'ai aucun raison d'envoyer ma fille a un ecole pour les _freaks_. Il n'arrive pas dans ma maison, 'Anne, je ne tolerait pas les acts si impie au sous de mon toit !"(6)_

_"MAMAN ! PAPA !"_

_"Mais t'as ecouter le professeur ! Il a dit qu'elle pourrait devenir une danger a – "(7)_

_"Elle ne deviendra un danger a persone parce que j'ai dit qu'elle ne le deviendra pas !"(8)_

_"Je suis piégé dans le cabinet ! Aide moi!"(9) Ashlynn cried, tears streaming down her face. Now she knew that everyone had forgotten about her. They hated her, she knew it. She just wanted to get out of the closet, it was dark and she couldn't breath – _

_There was a sudden feeling of falling and she felt as though there was no more weight. She could see all around her and at the same time as falling, she was rising; the inside of the closet loomed around her and it wasn't completely dark like before, nor was it cramped. Glancing at all sides, she looked back to the sliver under the door. It suddenly didn't seem so tiny any more and the minute she realized this, she felt herself squeezing under it, like a thin, smoking vapor._

_The air was free and she wasn't afraid any more. The light of the outside exploded around her as she sifted underneath the door, her body taking its shape again as she reappeared outside._

_A loud, bloodcurdling shriek made her look up in surprise, just as – _

Ashlynn shot upwards in bed, her heart racing as though she had just completed a marathon. The bright sunlight shone angrily at her through the blinds in her room, as outside she heard the sudden buzzing of her alarm clock.

Moaning and turning over to relieve the misery of the tortured clock, which proclaimed _six-thirty­_ to her in blaring, offensive green numbers, she pulled her covers back over her head. Out of the corner of her bleary eyes and through the gap between blanket and bed, she caught sight of the books that Storm had brought her the evening before. They were all library copies until they ordered hers for her, all hiding beneath the simple slip of paper that informed her of her classes for the day.

The situation was almost amusing. All of a sudden she had a normal life, in the most abnormal of places. It was a little laughable. Not that she would laugh – especially not this early. Regardless of being at home or being here at the Institute, Ashlynn was of the opinion that anyone who could willingly and cheerfully awaken earlier than ten o'clock in the morning should be dragged out into the streets and shot repeatedly.

The dream all but forgotten, she dragged herself heavily from the warmth of her bed and stepped gingerly on the floor. Thankfully the wood wasn't as cold as tiles might have been, but she had a feeling that the bathroom would not be so forgiving.

The dormitories seemed devoid of any other students. They were probably still sleeping; the night before she had set her alarm to an earlier time so as to avoid running into anyone in the showers the next morning. It was enough that she had to share a bathroom with however many girls frequented the place, but to actually deal with people staring at her on her way to a shower stall or something equally embarrassing was more than she could take right now. Perhaps once she was used to the sudden merging of her isolated world into the high-school-girl society she wouldn't have a problem with it, but right now…she shivered at the very thought.

It only took her ten minutes to shower and get ready; unlike the majority of other fourteen-year-old girls that frequented the bathroom area, she didn't bother with make-up or the cult-like torture of her hair. Whether this stemmed from her past inability to concentrate on more than the important rituals of the day in addition to her powers, or if it was just a general contempt for the superficial and trivial beautification process, Ashlynn didn't know. Neither did she care.

Her stomach growled, making an angry demand for food.

It looked as though class would have to wait a few minutes anyhow.

(-)

The kitchen of the manor was large and homey, reminding her immediately of the one back home. It hadn't even been altered greatly to make room for the vast amount of students that frequented the institute; Ash supposed that this meant the students didn't have a fixed dinner time and just ate whenever they felt like it, which she had so far, taken complete advantage of.

"Hey. It's you."

The abrupt sound of someone talking to her was such a shock to her that Ashlynn felt her entire body momentarily explode into vapor and then reassemble in time for her to whirl around to face its owner. The boy from the day before who had given up his seat for her – Bobby, she remembered – grinned at her from behind a large glass of orange juice.

"Whoa, relax, don't go to pieces," he warned good-naturedly, putting down the glass and leaning on the table. "You're the last person I thought I'd see down here." She stared, incapable of speech for a second. It was as though in the process of putting herself back together her tongue had reconstructed upside down. "Then again, I guess you figured there wouldn't be so many people. That's pretty much why I get up this early. No traffic. You should see the mornings, they're hell." He snorted and took another sip of orange juice. "Last week Kitty phased the tuna casserole through the fridge and it got stuck in between. We needed Scott to blast it out. The professor wasn't too happy about ordering a new door."

Not taking her eyes off of him, Ashlynn moved away, keeping as far towards the opposite wall as possible without seeming suspicious, before sliding into an empty bar-stool spot at the other end of the table. Her eyes roved over his appearance, the way she always observed people upon first meetings. She found that studying a person's looks and outside demeanor, despite what people said about superficiality and not 'judging a book by its cover', told a lot about the person. Unlike the wild haired, cool customer Pyro, Bobby appeared to be the exact opposite. Clean shaven, cropped hair and blue eyes, he carried himself casually and without the appearance of any stress or the proverbial 'chip'.

She wondered vaguely what it was that he could do that had landed him here at the mutant high school. But it wasn't like she was about to ask.

"Ashlynn, right?"

"…yes."

He stood up, acting as though he wasn't surprised that she was talking to him and went to the fridge, getting out some more orange juice. After a brief pause, he glanced back at her curiously, as though by afterthought and asked, "Want anything?"

She was about to shake her head, no, when she remembered the reason she had come downstairs was for food and he would know she was lying if she said no, because why else would she have come down to the kitchen?

He seemed to sense her thoughts and pulled a few things out of the fridge, holding them up in sequence, "Yoghurt? Smoothie? Milk?"

She cleared her throat and in a nearly inaudible voice mumbled, "Lactose_ intolérant_."

"Oh – OJ then?" She shrugged in what she hoped was acquiescence. "Oh-kay, how do you like it?"

Ashlynn frowned. "Um…in a glass?"

This time he looked surprise and didn't hide it, before laughing loudly. "Well look at that, it has a sense of humor. I meant do like it with or without pulp."

"Wit'out."

"Water in it?"

"_Non_."

"Chilled or ice-cold?"

"Euh…Ice cold?"

He grinned, pouring the last remnants of the carton into one of the cheesy pink-tinged glasses. "Was hoping you'd say that."

To her astonishment, she watched him bring the class near his face and blow just barely. Even from across the table she felt the prickle of cold, at the same time watching as the glass in his hands took on a frozen-crystal like appearance, frosted pieces of ice clinging to the tip of the glass.

He slid it across the table to her, the ice frozen enough to keep any of the fluid from spilling at the same time as keeping it liquid enough that she would be able to drink it. She gaped down at the glass and then up at him.

He was still grinning.

"I'm Bobby, by the way – in case you didn't hear yesterday."

She sipped the juice thoughtfully, not taking her eyes off of the other teenager.

"That was really cool what you did."

She glanced at him questioningly.

"With John," Bobby clarified. "It was pretty creepy – but a funny creepy."

The remembrance of the teen in question made her frown. It took a little bit of effort, not wanting to ask but unable to keep herself from doing so, but she finally questioned, "Is 'e always like dat?"

"Yeah," Bobby told her without beating around the bush. "You get used to it…or you punch him in the face, whatever floats your boat. He's not the most self-restrained guy you'll ever meet, but I guess there could be worse. He's actually pretty harmless if you take his Zippo away."

"Ah." She stored that piece of information in her head, just in case it came in handy for later.

Over the next hour, until the other students began to scramble into the kitchen for breakfast and they were forcibly ousted, Bobby asked her the usual questions – thankfully without really asking anything at all or expecting her to answer everything. Sometimes she'd answer shyly, or think about something for a while and then answer, other time she would merely shrug and go back to her juice. Either way he didn't seem to want to force anything out of her and she felt that she had found yet another person, in addition to Professor Xavier, that wouldn't force her into anything she didn't want to do. Most of the time it was him talking anyhow.

"The usual classes are covered by Professor Xavier and Storm," he told her as they walked down the wood paneled hallways, steering closer to the sides so as to keep away from the helter-skelter rampage of the students who had just gotten up. One boy ran down the hall in a blitz, his school books, socks and shoes following him a short distance behind him, hitting Bobby's arm and causing his books to wobble dangerously; another, much younger, teleported every few feet. "Scott Summers is in charge of mechanics and gym and stuff like that, but he subs for Prof X and Storm every now and then. Oh, and there's Dr. Grey – she's the school physician, but some of the kids here who are extra good at biology and stuff take a class with her every week."

"And…and dey're all mutants?" Ashlynn asked, feeling a little stupid for asking. Somehow, the reality that the entire place was void of normal human beings refused to sink in.

"Of course," Bobby laughed, not taking any notice of this. "You know Professor Xavier's a telepath, right? Storm can control the weather and Scott shoots these really wicked cool lasers out of his eyes. And Jean – Dr. Grey – moves things with her mind. It's cool, she was the one that put the satellite dish up on the roof for us, so she's basically a school hero now."

Digesting this piece of news, she remained silent for a time, following Bobby towards their first class. They had discovered upon leaving the kitchen that they both had a study period first thing that morning, although after that their schedules changed. Although they were in the same grade by state standards, thanks to Ashlynn's home schooling having put her a grade ahead of herself, Professor Xavier had wanted her to keep some contact with children her own age. Her timetable was half sophomore courses, half freshman. He had told her that if by the end of a three month period she showed enough aptitude and really wanted to change her schedule, he would move her up to a full high school level.

"…so, that's about it," Bobby finished, both of them stopping near the classroom she had mistakenly entered the day before. "Think you can handle all that?"

Ashlynn paused to consider and the nodded. As long as they didn't expect too much of her, she supposed that things might turn out well. Besides, she'd agreed to give the place a chance; apparently that included the people.

"Cool – come on, let's see if the gang saved us any seats."

Ashlynn froze. Gang?

Bobby seemed to see her expression. "Don't worry, it's just the usual group of us that bands together. I wouldn't worry about talking, Daleigh and the twins usually take care of that. No one will even bother you unless you want them to, 'kay?"

She frowned at him suspiciously, but he didn't appear to notice, instead opening the door and waiting for her to go through. She realized that despite his kindness, Bobby was stubborn. He didn't move until she went in and even then, blocked off her escape by shutting the door behind her.

The classroom was nearly empty, a stark contrast to the full-up state of it the day before; the lack of students cheered her a little, although the feeling ebbed away when Bobby steered her towards the only students that were actually in the room. She knew he wanted her to be social and wondered if maybe it was a psychic suggestion planted in his head by Professor Xavier.

Relatively speaking, there weren't that many others there. The strong boy that had carried her bags up the day before watched her impassively, while a pair of identical twins looked her up and down, wicked grins on their faces that made her nervous.

"Hey guys," Bobby raised a hand in greeting and then put his arm around Ashlynn as though both protecting her and cutting off her escape route. She froze, having never been so close to anyone before, let alone a teenaged boy. "This is Ashlynn – Ashlynn, meet Pyotr Rasputin – we just call him Pete because it's easier to pronounce – and those are the Kleinstock twins, Sven and Harlan. They're usually idiots, so just ignore them."

She nodded mechanically, not really taking in his explanation as she was more focused on the arm around her shoulders. For someone whose power was control of ice, it was rather warm on her back. The feeling of it continued to distract her and after another full minute of discomfort, she shrugged it off and went to sit down in the furthest, yet nearest desk to the group, remaining an outsider to the circle.

"Where's DB?" Bobby was asking, taking a seat at the other side. "She said she's let me copy her history notes."

"In trouble," Pete shrugged, not really elaborating. Bobby nodded and glanced at the Kleinstocks for explanation.

"She made Sam think there was a hoard of clowns invading his room this morning," one of the twins said with a grin.

"Yeah, he's been screaming ever since," his brother added.

Bobby snorted and shook his head. "Why isn't this surprising any more?"

"Because it's practically written in stone," mumbled a voice from behind and to Ashlynn's chagrin, a rather sleep-deprived and tussled looking John appeared, twirling one of the chairs around and straddling it casually. "She can't go one day without doing something stupid."

"Like you, hothead?" Bobby asked with the barest of smiles.

"It's better than 'good-boy'," the brunette shot back with a cool glower. He noticed Ashlynn in the corner and scoffed, "Oh, it's the freak. D'you get slapped with garage duty too, or did he just single me out again?" Ashlynn didn't answer, instead pushing herself back against the wall of the classroom and hoping the boys would stop looking at her expectantly. "Just me then?" he snorted. "Typical. Damn it, the old bat's always on my case."

"You constantly deserve it," Bobby reminded him with a hastily concealed yawn. "One day you'll realize that not everything's about you."

John wasn't listening, instead making quipping movements with his hand as he mocked Bobby, earning amused snorts from the twins. Pete rolled his eyes and went back to the open book on his desk, not saying anything to what appeared to be the usual scene.

Ashlynn didn't have time to relax into the careless environment and banter of the boys before there was a loud bang and the door to the classroom disintegrated. Ashlynn barely suppressed a shriek of surprise which earned an amused, scornful glance from John. The other's barely made a note of the disturbance, the biggest reaction coming from Bobby who tensed for a second and then relaxed, before he went back to his derisive impression of John. The twins called out appreciatively as a girl strode through the ruins of the door, pausing for a moment as though to show herself off.

Arguably the most colorful character that Ashlynn had seen as of yet, the girl didn't seem to care that the wall behind her was ruined. She was small, barely taller than the slightly shorter of the Kleinstock twins, with layered ginger hair and cunning violet eyes, but her entire presence seemed to hang over the rest with relative ease. Even without the general aura of imposingness, she girl was dressed in a direct and flamboyantly outrageous manner that clashed violently with the surrounding antique-like classroom, excepting the now wrecked wall.

"Better not let the prof. see that," the taller twin commented of-hand, although his eyes were sparkling with amusement. "You're already in trouble, right?"

"And Sam's still out for your blood," his brother added.

"Guthrie deserved it, he hid dog biscuits in my pillow and set Rahne free in my room," the new girl snorted, scratching at her cheek near the tiny Munroe above the right side of her mouth. "The bloody place is shit to the two ears."

The minute she moved, the world shimmered behind her and suddenly the wall and all the surroundings were back to normal, as though nothing had taken place. She stalked forward and then paused when she noticed Ashlynn for the first time resting her hands on her frayed jeans. "Oh, so you're the new girl, aye? Ashley or somethin'?" She thrust her hand out. "Daleigh – though that lot just calls me DB – resident pain in the arse."

Ashlynn shrunk back immediately. The strange girl regarded her for a moment and then turned to the others. "What's wrong with this bird?"

"She's shy, DB, a third of the general population suffers from it," Bobby commented.

"Not that _you'd_ know," John added, rolling his eyes. He had produced a silver zippo seemingly from nowhere and was clicking it open and shut. Ashlynn watched in fascination as the flame grew and shrank randomly, as though by whim, before disappearing completely within the decal of shark teeth. She remembered what it had been like to control it the day before, a pleased thrill springing through her body.

"Bull," Daleigh snorted. She smirked at Ashlynn. "You know, I've been trying to coax Pyotr out of his shell for ages now, don't be tellin' me I've got to go to work on you too." She snorted. "'Course the way John was cnawsvshawlin', seems like there's actually a base to work from, you think?" Her grin widened.

Ashlynn blushed, instantly regretting her actions from the day before. There were the inklings of smiles from everyone, except of course John who made an unimpressed sound and allowed the flame in his zippo to flare up dangerously close to Daleigh. The ginger-haired girl didn't seem to notice, and if she he did, didn't care.

"Did you bring your history notes?" Bobby asked, already digging his notebook out of the pile of books.

"Well, I did, but then the Prof did his little mind thing and saw that I was going to give them to you and took them," she told him, looking around the room for a spare seat and hefting over one of the large wooden chairs. Ashlynn watched the other girl consider, staring at the small group of guys pensively. There was only one remaining seat, next to John, which she was eyeing as though it was covered in flesh-eating Egyptian scarab beetles. She cleared her throat and scoffed, "You're not going to make me sit next to the human flashlight over there, are you? I can feel my self-respect diminishing just by looking at him."

As though something snapped, Ashlynn's fear of this girl went out the window. She didn't even register herself speaking until the words were out of her mouth. "You can feel it too? I dought it was just me."

An uneasy silence followed, before a loud outbreak of laughter from the guys and Daleigh. Even John cracked a sardonic smile, watching her with cold eyes. "It grew a backbone, huh?"

"Shut your gob, oh-headless-one," Daleigh ordered, dragging her seat over to where Ashlynn was sitting. "I think I'm going to like you, kid. Even if Jubes said you was a basket case." Ashlynn looked surprised. "Don't take it personally, she's the authority on everyone. You don't even have to be friends with her but she's talking your ear off about how Scott and Jean once got caught going at in the danger roo – "

She was cut off by loud groans from the other teens and Ashlynn had to crack a smile. Once they recovered, Daleigh immediately returned her focus on her.

"So, your accent – where are you from? France?" Ashlynn cleared her throat, mumbling in what she hoped was a louder tone than she usually used. " Quebec? Oh right, them Canadian separatists – well your name's odd for a Frenchy, ain't it? Don't they usually call their kids those generic names like Marie or Jeanne or Lisa or – "

" – Donald – "

"Mouth is open, Sven, should be shut," DB said without breaking off from her conversation. " – I learned French, you know? In school – 'course my accent's atrocious, but you know, can't have good looks and great language skills, right?"

" – Not you, anyway – "

"DB's talking, Harlan, shut up," the girl ordered.

Ashlynn merely shrugged, her brain spinning. Talking to Daleigh was like walking through a Salvador Dali painting in seventies technicolor. The girl seemed to be on two different subjects at all times and for some reason, Ashlynn had the sense that this girl was an amalgamation of different personalities bunched up together but with the twist of sanity that most people were lacking.

As the class began to fill up and Ashlynn continued to observe her new acquaintance, she saw that among the boys, Daleigh seemed to rule. It was immediately easy to see why – in contrast to the other girls that appeared in the classroom in their various ways, giggling and laughing, some already cracking their books open to study, Daleigh was much more relaxed and unconcerned, drumming up any subject that came to her mind and not shying away from anything, even if she knew nothing about it. After a while, even John, with whom it had at first seemed like he and Daleigh disliked each other, were caught in the middle of a discussion about rugby of all things.

It was only when Storm entered the room and announced the beginning of class that their small group, now joined by another girl who Bobby introduced as the Kitty who had fazed the tuna casserole through the fridge door, went silent.

Not that it lasted, as within minutes the twins had merged into a two-headed body and John nearly set one of the desks on fire, but for some reason, none of it was foreign to Ashlynn. She met Daleigh's amused expression from next to her and couldn't help but grin back.

Maybe there was something to this 'give the Institute a chance' thing, she thought, cracking open her history book – and then frowning when she saw that it had been turned to solid ice.

Next to her, Bobby whistled innocently, as though such pranks were beneath him.

* * *

1 "Is there anything we can do?" 

2 "And what is your success rate? How many of these children have you cured?"

3 "Thank you, but that's enough. This is just a ploy to have our daughter take part at your school, no? I'm sorry, but I have no wish that she expose herself to others who might have this disease. I do not believe in this mutant nonsense. Thank you for explaining what is the matter with our little one, but if you can not cure the disease, I think she is better off at home. Our family is not poor, sir, I assure you that we will find a solution to this problem."

4 "Thank you for the generous offer, but no. Now – if you would be so kind – leave my home."

5 "Maman! Papa! I'm here! Help me! Maman! Maman!"

6 "It's a trick – I have no reason to send my daughter to a school for freaks! It won't happen in my house, Hanne, I won't tolerate such ungodly acts under my roof!

7 "But you heard the professor ! He said she could become a danger to –

8 "She won't become a danger to anyone because I say she won't!"

9 "I'm stuck in the cabinet! Help me!"

* * *

TBC 


	3. Volume One: September 17, 2000

**_Smoke and Mirrors  
by ErtheChilde _**

* * *

_Chapter Three: _

Barely two hours after school ended, there was a sharp rap on her room door that made Ashlynn wince, tightening her grip on the giant hardcover on mutant rights that she was reading. Only one person was known to practically smack the door in that particular way, sounding like a giant rock hitting the windshield of a car, and it was usually accompanied by the thing being swung open violently and hitting up against the back wall. Today was no special case.

"Here you are, I figured you'd be cooped up in this place," Daleigh announced loudly, her presence ushering in the piercing noises of the other students outside. The impending weekend could be sensed in the atmosphere and in the loud, excited shouts of the few older students who had opted to go into town for the evening. The other kids were merely trying to shout at the top of their lungs to relieve the stress of the first few weeks of school. "Don't tell me you're doing your homework again."

Thinking about how she would probably have asked Daleigh to leave if she wasn't so frightened by her, Ashlynn managed a quiet, "I already did it."

The ginger-haired girl sent her an unimpressed look. "You disgust me." And she clapped her hands together, "Anyhow, forget that, let's go. I managed to convince the guys to a game of rugby – although Pyro's being a prat and keeps calling it football just to annoy me, bloody Aussie – but Storm made sure the weather's nice out there today and I intend to exploit that."

"I'm fine here," Ashlynn mumbled, holding her book close to her as though afraid that Daleigh would take it from her. Her fear was well grounded, considering the last book Daleigh had caught her in the middle of, she had confiscated until Ashlynn played billiaridini with her. The other girl hadn't been kidding when she had said she intended to coax Ashlynn out of her shell; every time she turned around, Daleigh was including her in something else as though it was completely normal. In fact, she had never acted like Ashlynn was a new student or a stranger – it was as though they had grown up together, a notion that the Quebecoise found completely foreign to her.

"No you're not, you're in danger of becoming a permanent fixture in those covers, that's what," Daleigh told her firmly, in one sweep grabbing the book and staring at it. She raised an eyebrow at Ash. " Darwin's _Origin of the Species_? Are you trying to suicide yourself?"

Ashlynn made a face and tried to grab the book back, but when Daleigh moved out of her way she pulled her knees up to her chest, comforting herself from the loss of its weight, and sighed, "It's very interesting."

"Of dat I am sure," Daleigh mocked her good-naturedly, looking around the room and noticing the other books that were piled neatly on the desk. She whistled as she poked at the books, and held up a large one written by Charlotte Auerbach on mutation research. "I can't make heads or tails of this 'un – what's it in?"

"German.

"Thought you were a franglophone?"

"My…_maman_ was German," Ashlynn revealed after a moments' hesitation. "She used to read to me and my brothers before I – " her head throbbed and she was forced to stop talking, her mind a sudden swirl of images. She shook her head and clamped her arms tighter to herself, peering at Daleigh as she tried to think of something to change the subject.

It seemed Daleigh had noticed the sudden tone in Ashlynn's voice, because she said, "Oh, right. There's always the 'before', right? Before when we were all normal…" she shrugged and tossed the _Origin_ on the desk. "Where'd you get all these, anyhow? When'd this place get a library?"

"Professor Xavier gave dem to me," Ash said softly, getting up off of the bed to retrieve her book.

"You learn something everyday," Daleigh remarked with a snort, before putting a hand out to stop Ash from getting any closer to the desk. "And as much as I want to leave you alone with the Flycatcher and his Band of Merry Geneticists, you my friend, are about to get a crash course in rugby."

" – but I – !"

" Blarney," Daleigh said, drowning out Ashlynn's voice. "I can tell by lookin' at you that you've never played in your life, so don't go tellin' me you don't like it – if you've never played, you can't not like it, savvy?"

Ashlynn didn't have a chance to answer before Daleigh was dragging her from her room, which their group of friends always referred to as her 'Fortress of Solitude' since John came up with the witty joke one afternoon during math. Two weeks ago if they had said such things, she would have been insulted and shut herself up as far away as she could. But after having been a resident of Xavier's Institute for the better half of the month, she was slowly falling into habits and routines that were no longer foreign to her.

Dealing with Daleigh was indeed, one of those routines that she was in no way equipped to get out of. Although the most forward and involved of the group (towards Ashlynn anyhow), Daleigh was an unknown. She didn't talk about herself, much the same as Ashlynn, and acted as though there was no such thing as an outside world. When Ashlynn worked up the courage one day to ask her what part of Ireland she was from, the illusionist had laughed and jokingly said, "the better half" before changing the subject with a practiced ease. Ashlynn had never approached it again, recognizing the snub for what it was immediately.

It was because of this isolation, the wall that Daleigh put up beyond what she wanted to project towards people, that Ashlynn didn't know what their relationship was, making it hard for her to consider the other girl a friend. Daleigh was the first female chum she had ever had, not including her foster sister Dionne (who was six and regarded everyone as her friend), and it was therefore new territory for her. Even before being sent to the Lemieux house, her only friend had been Match and he –

"Hey Ash, if you don't stop staring off into space you're going to knock into a wall," Daleigh interrupted her thoughts as they scurried down the halls. "Last I checked, you don't go through objects. It'll leave a painful bruise."

Ashlynn didn't bother to explain that she had never gotten hurt in her life. As for commenting on the nickname, she was far beyond trying to tell the other girl she didn't appreciate the shortening of her name or the jibe at her disassembled molecular form.

They didn't stop until Daleigh had hauled her into the green space before the mansion, down beneath the small protruding balcony. Even when she hadn't wanted to be there, Ashlynn had known instantly the beauty of the Xavier ancestral home. The sheer greenery and well kept gardens were a testament of Storm, who in addition to downplaying the weather only slightly to suit the needs of the school, happened to be an avid gardener and groundskeeper as a hobby. Ashlynn had heard from the others that she taught a horticulture class, but upon being invited to join, had shied away. The idea of being up close and personal near a teacher, especially the ever-friendly Storm, was the closest idea to hell that Ashlynn could fathom – apart from the current issue of being coerced into a game she wanted nothing to do with.

Bobby was already protesting when the two girls arrive, while John had lumbered off away from the group, hunched over and frowning angrily at the grass as though it had committed some kind of mortal sin against him.

"I have more important things to do than play football," Bobby protested.

"Yeah, like sticking your head in an oven," John muttered, squinting up at the sky with an unconcerned look on his face.

"Scott's teaching a motor workshop in the garage," Bobby corrected, sending John a mute glare. "Why are you here, anyway? Don't you have to go deface public property or something?"

"Can't – the old man's grounded me to school grounds," the fire manipulator replied snidely. "Believe me, if I had it my way, I'd be out of here in an instant – 'course between watching you guys make idiots of yourselves over a pigskin and asking that stuck-up Pryde bird to phase me outta here, I figure this is the lesser of two evils."

"Well screw off, you weren't invited in this game," Daleigh replied without hesitation, albeit a little childishly. "Where are Sven and Harlan? Go bug them."

John sneered at her.

Ashlynn hunched her shoulders and glanced away from the impending argument, noticing that Pete was sitting on the lawn, idly twisting a blade of grass between his fingers and watching the trees in the distance with a fixed expression.

Ashlynn didn't know why Pete hung around with them; she knew that he was introverted, the same way that she was, but in contrast had no problem making his feelings about certain things clear. She had caught from snatches of conversation that he had been vacationing with his grandparents in Russia when he had discovered his abilities, and had saved his little sister Illyana from a runaway tractor. Apparently Professor Xavier had contacted him soon after and he hadn't known what else to do but come attend the school. It was a well-known fact that the teen preferred the quiet and she had learned within a day of being at Xavier's that the junior was a talented artist.

Why he was down here was a mystery – although she had a hunch it had something to do with Daleigh, who had the strange affinity to getting what she wanted out of people. Case point being John, Ashlynn observed, watching the hot-head flip his ever-present zippo out of nowhere and begin to click it open and closed, pointedly ignoring Daleigh's rapid-fire chatter.

Although her first impression of him as a conceited, immature teenager had been almost spot-on, John didn't bother her as much as she first thought he would. She had resigned herself to the fact that every place she went had to have at least one childish character and here, it was John. The boy was far from kind and prone to showing off with whatever stunt came into his head – whether it was insulting someone to the breaking point or lighting Bobby's chair on fire while he was sitting on it. A few times she had watched him lose his temper at the twins and nearly lash out at them, but had pulled himself back before doing anything that could get him in too much trouble. He definitely seemed to resent any means of restraining him, as he never had anything good to say about the teachers and Professor Xavier.

John was almost never seen out of the company of Sven and Harlan, who although they were only twelve, followed him around like he was their leader. Ashlynn only found out why when a week after her arrival, during lunch, the two of them had produced a massive wave of fire over the dinner table that John had morphed into the shape of a tiger to terrorize his classmates. He'd been hauled into Professor Xavier's minutes later, returning with the usual sullen expression on his face.

Bobby was John's exact opposite – calm, collect and kind to everyone that he saw. Of course that didn't make him any less of a pain, Ashlynn reminded herself as she remembered her frozen history book. She had spent the entire rest of that night blow drying the pages so as not to ruin the words. The iceman was smart though, she had to admit; the teachers and the other students knew this without question and she had caught glimpses of the math he was doing. Although barely older than she was, Bobby was already learning calculus and talking about taking part in the next nationwide math competition for kicks.

"…Well, fine, Hothead, if you're here, you might as well play. Now get around here, all of yiz!" Daleigh ordered, producing a ball from practically nowhere and tossing it up in the air before catching it. "Rules are no powers, you can only pass backwards and anythin' else goes. Questions?" Before anyone could answer she cleared her throat. "Good. Me an' Pete 'gainst you three."

Immediately there were protests from Bobby and John.

"Why do we get the asshole and you get the guy with super-strength?" Bobby demanded.

"Well you don't really have the asshole as he said he wasn't playing," Daleigh reminded him. "And I'm a shrimp, in case you haven't noticed – as charming as my diminutive height is, it's not exactly choice to play ball with – Pete makes up for tha'. Cleared up?"

"Why the hell am I with the losers?" John complained.

"Because you are a loser," Daleigh replied simply.

John snapped his zippo shut ferociously and straightened up to his full height, which was about a head taller than Daleigh. "If you don't stop I'll kick your ass."

"Take your best shot – you couldn't hit a cow's arse with a banjo."

Bobby glanced between the two and cleared his throat, nicking the ball from Daleigh's hands and tossing it, "Hey Pete – catch!"

Pete, who was still sitting on the ground, barely looked up in time to grab hold of the ball. When he did though, he immediately stood up, as though resigning himself that he would have to play and made a break for the opposite end of the courtyard.

John took one look at this and grunted, "Aw, hell no," running after him, his glaring contest with Daleigh over for the moment. Bobby didn't need much incentive either and in a minute the two opposites were vying with each other as to who would get to Pete first. Ashlynn watched all of this, not really knowing what she was supposed to do.

Despite the warm weather, she was still dressed in her heavy sweater, which she pulled against her body as though chilled by the very act of being outside. In the distance she watched both Bobby and John both dive at Pete, grabbing him around the shoulders – but the robust teen continued to run as though not troubled by them at all.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

Ashlynn glanced at Daleigh, almost pleadingly.

The Irish girl snorted. "Don't look at me like that – get your arse out there – just run around like the guys – pretend there's some ravenous Bengal tiger after you or somethin'."

"But dere isn't any – "

"But there _could_ be," Daleigh said firmly.

Ashlynn stared at the other girl in a kind of apprehensive shock, as though trying to determine whether or not the other girl would actually pull something like that just to make her play a silly game. From what she had learned in the past two weeks, something told her that it was precisely something she would have done. After one last long-suffering glance, Ashlynn began to jog over to where the boys were still trying to wrestle Pete to the floor, a feat right up there with trying to make a mountain bend.

It wasn't long before she was out of breath, which didn't surprise her. She had never been very active – truthfully, there had never been time or a chance. The most exercise she had ever gotten was when she was little and she had forced her brothers to play with her.

"Gotcha!" Bobby yelled triumphantly, finally managing to grab the ball from Pete and letting go. He rolled to the ground at the same time as John; Pete whirled around and went for Bobby, who managed to pass it in time.

Somehow, as though beyond all reason, the ball landed in Ashlynn's hands.

For a second she stared.

"RUN!" Bobby yelled at her as Pete got up and Daleigh started after her. Squeaking in fright, Ashlynn took off, zigzagging around the courtyard erratically, nearly tripping over her own feet when she noticed that the others were all chasing her now, shouting at her. Daleigh was laughing maniacally as she approached Ashlynn, nearly two feet away from her.

Reflexively, Ashlynn gasped and crumpled into a tight ball; Daleigh couldn't stop in time and tripped over her, landing in a shaking heap of limbs a couple yards away. Ashlynn was immediately up and leaning over her, the ball forgotten as she went to see if the other girl was alright.

When she turned Daleigh over, she realized that Daleigh's shaking was caused by fits of laughter, and not pain. "I didn't know we was playin' tackle, you brute! Nice one – curl up into a foetal position, kill your enemies." The girl sat up with a grin. "You'd better remember that one if you ever go into th'army."

A wan smile appeared on her face, Ashlynn backtracked, going after the ball which had been swiped by Bobby once again. John had disappeared, only to be seen walking moodily off of the field, shuffling as though to say 'I tried to fit in and you're all fuckers, so leave me alone'. For a moment she merely stood and watched him leave, wondering about whether it was because of his fight with Daleigh or his overall personality. Some small part of her recognized shyness, only his had gone on to the level of being abrasive and infringing on others.

"Ignore him," Daleigh told her as she stood up. "He's a selfish bastard. I don't even know why we try including him in anything, it never takes." She clapped Ashlynn on the shoulder. "Let's get on with it."

They played for the rest of the afternoon; even if she and Bobby were losing spectacularly, Ashlynn was having a good time. An honest, actual fun time without wishing she was still in her room, covered in a blanket and burying her nose in a mutant evolution book. Not that she'd tell Daleigh, who would probably gloat over it enough without added incentive.

"Go!" Bobby yelled, throwing the ball her way. She grabbed hold and ran off.

She had barely gotten across the field when out of nowhere, something heavy and moving at a full force slammed into her, sending her flying across the green. Ashlynn didn't have time to open her mouth, to scream or yell or anything, before she hit the ground and heard a dull _crunch_.

"Oh my God!"

"Ash!"

She blinked, staring up at the sky with a dull sense of confusion; almost instantly, three worried faces were standing over her.

"Hey Ash, are you alright?" Daleigh asked.

Ashlynn frowned. Why wouldn't she be?

"I'll go get Dr. Grey," Bobby said, already disappearing.

"I'm sorry," Pete said immediately. "I couldn't stop in time."

Couldn't stop?

Ashlynn didn't understand and for a moment tried to order herself to move – when she realized that she couldn't. Ignoring Daleigh and Pete asking her questions and standing above her, she strained her eyes and her peripheral vision to take in her paralyzed form. The direction she was staring in and the manner in which she was lying didn't make sense.

The reality that her neck was broken didn't sink in for another few seconds, in which is suddenly made more sense than anything else. She whimpered, remembering something she had read long ago about how if someone survived a broken neck they would never be able to move again. She had never put much in store by such warnings, considering she had never suffered any kind of accident or pain before in life thanks to her mutation. Before coming in contact with anything, she usually just exploded into a smoking wisp of molecules.

That hadn't happened this time. She had forgotten about the device that Professor Xavier had given her, the one that kept her solid unless she focused against it. He had said it was all about control – how was giving her a broken neck giving her control?!

An unnatural, foreign feeling of anger pumped through her blood. It was mixed with fear as well, the fact that so many people were gathering around her now – Daleigh and Pete were telling her to remain calm, but she could see definite fear in their eyes.

Her breath was beginning to come at staggering intervals, as though the fracture was cutting off her oxygen and suffocating her. There were spots in front of her eyes.

She closed them, frowning; it was the only thing left that she could do.

Unless…

The instant the thought came into her head, there was a thundering reprimand from Professor Xavier.

_Don't, Ashlynn, that would be unnecessary strain on your psyche. You don't have enough control over your powers to attempt something so rash. Remain calm, Dr. Grey is on her way. _

At first she was fully ready to comply; but when more and more students began to appears around her, all talking, the sounds causing a dizzying whirlwind of sound that blocked out everything, the need to listen ebbed away. It was seeing Jubilee staring with her gaping mouth and talking a mile a minute to the girl beside her ("Oh my God, she's dead! Look at her neck, it's completely…it's snapped!") that made her throw caution to the wind and force concentration.

The oxygen was less now, but she only needed it for a little longer.

_Don't do it, Ashlynn – _

She ignored the deafening voice.

She could feel her entire body flicker, losing mass, and suddenly lying on the grass again. There were gasps and pointing and Ashlynn wanted to much just to not be lying there in the middle of everything. She flickered again, her very cells airborne, their own consciousness in each one.

She flickered back again. She couldn't pull it off, she couldn't breathe and it was effecting her concentration. She was going to pass out at this rate, and who knew where that might lead – unconsciousness, coma, shock – she might even die.

Inhaling the last of her oxygen, she tightened her eyes, using as much strength and concentration as she could muster to completely disintegrate into the air. There was a cry that went up and she realized in shock that she hadn't managed to turn her entire body into airborne particles – but her neck and back were suddenly gone, whirling around the air – leaving her a half-composed body for a few seconds.

She knew she was dead for twenty-seven seconds, because it was what she counted. There was no activity in her brain and her eyes were glazed – but the particles swirling around the air were sentient, and pulling themselves back together.

There was a painful jolt as they returned to her body and suddenly she was breathing again, thinking and feeling a dull stiffness in her entire body. She blinked a few times, as though testing the waters, before moving. Her arms and legs moved with little difficulty until she was sitting up, facing Daleigh and Pete who watched her in amazement.

She tried to smile reassuringly, but it was as though having cured herself of paralysis everywhere else, her face remained carved of stone. A redheaded woman was already running down the garden steps towards the courtyard and Ashlynn made a face, standing up fully. She didn't want any of this anymore – she wanted to be back in her room, away from prying eyes.

Striding forward, she stopped for a moment in front of Jubilee and in a small, hard-as-nails voice declared, "I'm _not_ dead."

Some long forgotten part of her smirked at the look of fright on the other girl's face while she outwardly merely pushed passed the crowd and went back into the mansion. Although not what she had set out to do, she had a feeling that this latest endeavour of hers would keep any other curious and overly extroverted people from crowding around her.

(-)

"What you did was foolhardy," the professor sighed later that day, glancing out into the courtyard which had since emptied of students. "Your control is not yet so absolute for such a display just yet – you might very well have permanently damaged your spinal nerves. Maybe even inadvertently killed yourself."

Ashlynn stared. She hadn't thought that what she had done was so dangerous.

"It wouldn't have been if you weren't wearing your form inducer," Xavier explained gravely, wheeling his chair over to sit directly in front of her. As he had done since meeting her, he always made sure that they were making eye-contact, as though it was the only way he could be sure she was listening, regardless of his telepathy. He folded his hands under his chin. "I realize now that the blame falls on myself – I didn't explain to you in detail about your mutation when you arrived. I had hoped that you might come to be voluntarily before such an event took place, but…however."

He cleared his throat.

"Yours is a special case – the rate of mutation in your DNA is unbalanced. The molecules that make up your entire body are coming apart, almost as though plagued by a degenerative disease. If you had not come to us when you did, it might have progressed to the point where you would not have been able to maintain corporal form at all."

Ashlynn tensed at the thought of this, the idea itself a terrifying prospect. For a moment she debated about voicing the question, knowing he already knew what she was going to ask. Somehow, though, the thought needed sound to convey her fears in a serious approach. "Will I…will I always be like dis?" Her whisper was barely louder than had she not spoken at all. "What if I stop using – I mean – what if I don't do it anymore – ?"

"That is not necessary," the professor smiled warmly, the former grave expression all-but extinguished. "In fact, just the opposite. You have endless potential, Ashlynn. I haven't seen so much in one person since the first years of this institute. I believe that schooling your powers will lead you to a better control over them – without having to dedicate your every thought and ability to it."

"What makes you dink dat?" she asked guardedly, the hard edge in her voice uncommon even to her own ears. "You said yourself dat my control's not any good."

"As of yet," he told her firmly. "You must have patience. By the rate your gifts are growing I would say that you don't need much. Within the short time that you've been here, you have grown unimaginably. Your ability to cancel out the form inducer shows that better than any regenerative property that you have yet exhibited." She looked confused. "The device given to you is meant to keep your form together without your consciousness; to leave your min and body free to grow and develop the way it should have since you discovered your gifts. Because you spent your whole life trying to suppress your gifts, they have grown beyond your influence."

She looked down at the bulky watch-like contraption on her wrist, having never really given it a thought before. Professor Xavier had initially only mentioned that it would give her form by sending a minor electrical current to harden her molecules together. He hadn't talked about why he was giving it to her. She had thought it had just been a bid to make her normal –

_You are not normal. You have extraordinary gifts and abilities that you can chose to develop, and help people, or to shun and live in misery of them. _

She felt like crying a little. Never in her life had she been told that anything about her was extraordinary or beyond freakish. She didn't remember her parents and family ever treating her normally, and the facility where she had been prior to being sent to the Lemieux family had treated her like a sub-human. Even Ginette pretended like there was nothing wrong, only ever referring to her abilities as 'Ashlynn's problem'.

"They are far from a problem," the old professor said kindly, trying to catch her eyes again. "The fact that you were able to disassemble by mere thought – twice now – shows that you can cancel out the inducer by will, something I hadn't imaged you to be able to do for a considerably long period of time. But with that strength also comes a certain degree of duty."

She straightened up, half-expecting him to say something along the lines of completing vigorous tasks of training and meditation, the way some religious gurus tended to do in an attempt to reach Nirvana. The Professor chuckled all of a sudden, making her face turn a light pink. "Although that might help, it was not my intention. I only wish that you take part in a few one-on-one sessions with me a week to improve your concentration. I suggest keeping a journal of your progress – set goals for how you want to go about achieving more control." His face was genuinely supportive. "I truly believe that by November you will be able to unconscious control your gifts, in exactly the same manner that the others are able."

Despite feeling uplifted, Ashlynn half-wished that the old man had told her that one day she would be able to concentrate hard enough to make her powers go away.

"You know, there are many mutants out there who will never have the chance that you have," Xavier told her seriously. "You will be able to control it; you will be able to live a normal life. Many of us are unable to stop or control our powers. Do not take for granted the gift you have been given."

Instantly humbled, she nodded.

Xavier cleared his throat again. "That being said – I believe you have a math test to study for and I have a physics class to prepare." He beamed at her. "I will see you on Monday then."

"Yes sir," she replied, already jumping to her feet. She managed the barest hint of a thankful smile, before leaving the room hastily.

It didn't matter how much the professor was trying to help her and how non-threatening he was, Ashlynn had not yet resolved herself to speaking so candidly with people one-on-one. In a group she was able to hide away and not be noticed, but the professor's ideas about her spending more time with him – having his focus solely on her was frightening.

She was so preoccupied with her thoughts that it wasn't until she reached the third floor that she realized she was attracting odd stares and whispers from the other students. She hunched her shoulders together defensively, trying to appear smaller and counting down her steps until she would reach her room. On the way, she caught the eyes of a girl walking by who squeaked, averted her eyes, and phased through the nearest wall.

Ash started running. She just wanted to get into her room as quickly as possible and have the entire day disappear into a sea of yesterdays the way every bad day tended to. The whispers followed her as though the students were actually running after her and for the slightest inkling of a moment she wished she was walking with at least one person to keep some of the attention away from herself. She was odd enough as it was, but now she was the frightening freak that wouldn't even die with a broken neck.

She hurtled herself around the corner of the abandoned hallway that led to her corridor, so fast she nearly didn't realize what she was seeing. When she did, she felt her entire body disappear into thin air, snaking back the way she had come and rematerializing where she had started out.

For a second she pause to catch her breath, the image of Daleigh and John making out in a darkened corner of the adjoining lobby imprinted on the back of her eyes. All the way back to her room she didn't notice anything else beyond her thoughts, trying to understand how two people who appeared to hate each other beyond words could partake in something so intimate.

Ash didn't understand.

But then again, a lot of things didn't make sense to her. Ever since coming to Xavier's school, life had been like freefalling in Jell-o – garbled and weird, yet strangely safe. Maybe at some point she would understand what was going on – maybe she wouldn't. At this point she was still trying to figure out what parts were normal stages in growing up and what was complete and total nonsense.

She wasn't having much luck.

* * *

TBC 


	4. Volume One: September 24, 2000

_**Smoke and Mirrors**  
**by ErtheChilde**_

Note: I am experimenting with point-of-view at the moment; for anyone who's wondering, I have all of the people who act as main characters see themselves/others and call themselves/others by whatever name appeals most to their personality. Also, remember that this is Pyro before we actually have any idea what his personality is about (pre X2); so I reserve the right to twist him anyway I see fit and say he's still developing as a person…did I say that outloud?

* * *

_Chapter Four:_

Pyro was bored out of his mind, doodling something over yesterday's science notes. The library's silence was deafening, broken only by the sporadic whispers and shushed laughs of the other students. The windows around the room opened onto the green courtyard, the sound of kids playing in the basketball court and the running fountain outside distracting him even more from his so called homework. A musty smell of books that hadn't been opened in decades invaded his nose.

Out of all the happy-go-lucky kids there, all busy little fucking beavers, he didn't seem to fit. He was taller than most of these people and a lot surlier, he knew. He figured the cultivated sneer was a nice change from the helium induced grins most of the others sported half the time. He liked to think his less than pretty-boy attitude shook things up for the instructors and gave them some sort of variation from the easy time of it they had with the other kids.

If teaching at mutant high could be described as easy.

He had had that same _Metallica_ song stuck in his head for three days now, all because that jackass Sven (or had it been Harlan? He could never tell the difference, anyhow) had been screaming it at the top of his lungs all last week. Poncy rockstar wannabe.

Pyro hated _Metallica_; hated them with a passion that was so fiery it nearly put his flamethrowing abilities to shame. With their lyrics that couldn't go thirty seconds without adding a dramatic _hoo-ha _ to what might possibly have been a good song or the drummer with the Napoleon complex or even what sounded like lung cancer with a tune. He didn't understand what made them so great, but then again, he didn't understand a lot of things. If the inner workings of a mediocre band that was worshipped by mallrats proclaiming them metal gods was the only thing he would never understand, he figured he'd probably get off easier in later life.

Of course based on the fact that he was still stuck in the lame excuse for a school being babysat by a paraplegic and his gang of side-show freaks, it was pretty safe to say _Metallica_ was the least of his worries.

Usually when he said things like that out loud he got a slap upside the head by DB, or reprimanded by one of the passing instructors; it was almost as though free speech wasn't allowed in this institute where half the time they were spouting nonsense about liberty, equality and soccer-mom psychobabble.

Whatever the case, he couldn't help but feel that way. This place was a joke, had been a joke since the moment he had set foot on the 'campus'. He couldn't fake respect and pretend to buy all the equality bullshit that Xavier and Storm were always spouting, when he knew better than anyone just how not equal humans and mutants were.

Mutants were better than humans. He was better than any two-bit moron who didn't have a special ability to his name, and was better than half of the morons around here. Some kids had the weirdest powers, things you would only ever see in a comic book;far-fetched and pointless. He couldn't help but laugh at that one kid that shed her skin every week – neither could he help retching whenever he had to walk by the kid's room, the stench was so bad.

The point was that all of the lessons they were getting on power and responsibility always went in one ear and out the other. It's not that he hadn't tried – he'd been somewhat thankful when two years earlier he'd been offered a place here and had thought if he attempted to go along with the equal rights gibberish things would get better. But it had only made him thirst for freedom even more. He wanted and needed to be able to use his gifts without worrying that it might hurt some worthless homo sapien.

To know that he and the rest of the students here had enough power to be gods but were holding themselves back angered him. Which resulted in him acting out and getting into trouble – Xavier tended to wave it away as teen angst, but Pyro knew it was more than that. He wanted and needed it to be more than that, or he felt like there was nothing left for him to worry about. And if that happened, life would just be boring.

So he would stick it out here until they 'graduated' him and then he'd hit the road; maybe get arrested a few times, who knew? He was, however, fully intending to go off somewhere after leaving, work as a journalist, travel, see the world, write a book or two about it, buy some place where he ruled the roost and could cut loose whenever he wanted. Of course the world domination plot was about three lines higher on his mental to-do-list, right above getting arrested.

The only reason he was still here, now, was because back home happened to be worse. Hard to believe, but it was. At least here the pot-bellied rent-a-cops weren't after him and he didn't have to wake up on a couch somewhere with someone else's puke all over him.

Propping his feet up on the polished oak table, Pyro leaned his chair back, pulled his Zippo out of his pocket and began to flick it open and closed; out of the corner of his eyes he scanned the shelves of the library in case one of the bleeding-heart whiners that usually hung out here decided to come play El Capitano and tell him he wasn't supposed to play with fire in the library.

'No shit,' he thought, 'I'm not allowed to play with fire anywhere. It's too _dangerous_ – Oh,no, _St-John_ – ' (God, it's like his mother had opened the Bible on the day he was born and turned up that name!), '- don't use your gifts, never mind that's why you came here – just sit there and become a vegetable on the couch as your life passes you by. You can be a cucumber, how's that sound? And once you've put down roots, maybe we can move you to the garden!'

He winced, running over that last thought. The library was finally getting to him, especially if even in his head he couldn't come up with better material than that. Unfortunately for him, it was the only place away from the twin terrors who had been hanging off of him since he pulled his carcass out of bed that morning. One fiery cyclone and suddenly he wasn't able to get away from the little creeps.

_Flip-click._

He screwed up his face and leaned further back, staring at the ceiling. His notebook, hidden by the homework he was supposed to be working on, was forgotten on the table which was now being brutishly scuffed by his Docs. He wondered if he had ADD. It would explain so, so much – and yet he was almost one hundred percent sure his medical health was pretty good. When he'd first showed up here they'd had the creepy redheaded broad check him out and she'd said everything was normal.

Pyro smirked to himself; she'd probably been checking him out for more than measles shots, knowing this place.

Looking out the nearby window, he caught sight of DB far below, sitting in the grassy oval with those two basket cases that she usually hung out with – the Walking Incendiary Device and the Bitch. Of course everyone else just called them Tabby and Rahne. He liked his names for them better; then again, he was childish like that.

'Childish my ass,' he thought a moment later, clicking the lighter rather viciously and throwing it open again. 'I'm real. And they can't handle it.'

By _they_ he meant the other guys; Bobby and Pete. The iceman especially.

Pyro had been put off by the do-gooder Leave-It-To-Beaver chump since walking through the heavy doors into the place and he didn't see it changing any time soon. He knew that most people said he was jealous of Bobby – hell yeah to that. Anyone would be jealous of a guy who was at the top of his class, able to control his powers completely and number one on any hot chick's dating list to boot.

Not that he cared about those things in the broader scope – studying was a waste of time that could be spent, well, not studying. He wasn't book smart, never would be, didn't give a rats behind, and control over powers meant nothing if your power sucked – and in comparison to his, Bobby Drake's powers were lame. Come on, _ice_? Was the guy supposed to go to work in a hotel somewhere as the walking ice machine for a few extra tips?

He frowned again; another bad joke. He was glad there was no one around to hear him.

As for girls, they were over-rated. Walking garbage disposals demanding affection and money, annoying and superficial; case-point that motor mouth, Jubilee. And yet, they were not without their perks, he added after a moments thought as his gaze fell on the window again. DB was a perfect example of that and he wasn't even sure how _that_ had happened. One minute he'd been ready to tear her head off just to see the blood and a second later he'd had her pinned up against a wall. Go figure.

DB.

He frowned; he didn't know how he was supposed to think of her. The brash Irish girl was beyond his comprehension and enough to make him want to commit murder sometimes, his dislike for her going far beyond the irritation he held for Bobby. Of course he wasn't remotely attracted to Bobby, which cleared up that little issue right fast.

The mind of a teenaged boy – not the safest of places.

The sound of books clattering to the floor made him, along with the rest of the once silent library, glance down the aisle toward the commotion. He could barely make it out beyond the shelves, but finally managed to catch a look as the skittish one – Ashling or Ashley or Bob, whatever her handle was – paled at the attention and set about picking up the books she had just dropped. A few childish giggles scattered between the stacks could be heard.

He snorted and looked back down at his books, idly playing with the scratched shark decal on the lighter as his thoughts lethargically turned to the new girl. Okay, so three weeks was hardly new, but in this place, where it was rare that some caring parent (and he thought this with scathing sarcasm, of course) sent their child to the freak school, someone arriving a week after the term started could definitely be seen as someone new.

He didn't like her.

It had nothing to do with the fact that she was of the female species and it had nothing to do with the possession thing that DB liked to bring up at every possible moment. It was like she knew that he couldn't remember what had happened and had to retell it whenever she thought about it. He could only recall the shy girl's smoky form when it had overwhelmed him that first day and stolen a few minutes of his life away from him. He couldn't describe what it had been like to be taken over by what had seemed to be nothing but air. Just as soon as she had turned into the ash black smoke he had stopped being able to control his thoughts and had stopped being conscious. Like going to sleep and waking up without dreaming.

No, the weirdness factor had to do with the fact that she was creepy and strange in a way that not even a social-defect like Pyro could ascribe to. He tried to tell himself it was her eyes – the freaky, mismatched stare of blue and green that even when she wasn't staring at him seemed to be scrutinizing, able to see his darkest secrets and thoughts – but he knew perfectly well that it wasn't that. One of his best friends growing up had eyes like that and everyone had called him Bionic. He didn't know why; as far as he was concerned, everyone was stupid when they were kids.

There was something odd about her that just didn't balance out with everything else. Like why she always walked around in the heaviest jackets possible when it was practically melting outside. Or how she always pulled her arms in as though she expected someone to hit her. Or the antisocial complex she seemed to have; next to her, his issues were harmless – and in this place, he'd always been the king of anti-social.

Hell, the way she squeaked out her one-word answers and tried to show a backbone was aggravating. She reminded him of the twitchy one from the _Breakfast Club_. Hm, maybe she was a klepto or a nymphomaniac? Intriguing…

If television had taught him anything, it was usually that the quiet ones ended up axe murderers. Not that he couldn't take an axe-murderer, but if said felon could burst into an infinity of pieces and make him axe himself, he would be in a bit of a jam.

It didn't help her case what had happened the week before; all of a sudden there was this huge crowd in the playing field. A small part of him had wanted it to be Bobby that had gotten hurt, just to make sure he wasn't the Golden Boy everyone thought he was – but then he'd seen her. Pyro had never seen anyone's neck bent that way and hoped he never would again. That was just gross. The fact that she'd just shimmered and put herself back together was further proof that she was a freak. And coming from a mutant, that actually meant something.

He didn't pay much attention to the sound of the chair legs thumping against the hardwood floor mercilessly as he leaned forward and shoved his school books away. He'd never had any intention of actually working on them, so why had he brought them? As a cover, of course. Everything was a cover – or at least most things.

He wasn't even thinking as he worked out the sketch, the words flowing effortlessly from his pen. Despite being one of the problem children academically, he wasn't stupid. And he wasn't without his wiles and gifts, flame-throwing notwithstanding. Words happened to be one of them. Writing had always come easy, whether he could spell or not, and some of the material he'd written over the years had been really good. Not that he'd kept any of it; he'd burned practically everything after writing it for fear one of his dorm mates might read it. If that happened then people would start talking about Pyro and his Emo writings and his reputation would be forever shattered.

He liked the fact that people thought he was a brainless loner, the bad boy rebel without a cause, because it made them underestimate him. Which gave him the upper hand. He may not have been a genius like _Bobby_, but he was smart enough. And creative enough; back home, any boy that preferred to sit around and write rather than play rugby or get into a fistfight just for the sake of drawing blood was called a Nancy boy and beaten into the dirt. He'd seen it happen to a neighbour and had learned quickly not to get caught.

Despite trying not to write or to have things to say, he'd always been able to put things to paper in a way that it leaped up to the reader, the same way a sizzling ember turned into a blaze. He had been stupid enough once to keep a journal – he made a face at this, remembering that it was exactly because of his drunken father finding it that he had started burning everything he wrote. He didn't want to have to deal with the mocking jeers again.

He was a page and a half through the character sketch before he actually realized that she was standing right behind him, reading over his shoulder. It was her presence alone, the silent shadow behind him, barely even breathing, with her hair hanging in front of her eyes and pale face that startled him.

"Jesus Christ!" he shouted, practically throwing the chair back, scraping against the floor. His voice was a loud growl that startled everyone else from the stupor the library silence had imposed on them. The girl's gasp was inaudible as the various annoyed shushing noises overtook the library. Neither teen noticed, and if they did, neither cared.

She staggered backwards, nearly falling into one of the bookshelves, recovering only in time to keep from causing damage, and gaped at him in shock as he jumped to his feet, almost throwing the chair out of his way. "What the hell is your problem?!"

Looming over her was easy; the girl was a good four inches shorter then him – not as big a difference as was between him and DB, but still considerable. Especially the way she shrank into herself, trying to take up less space and less attention. Although she wasn't looking at him, he could see her eyes wide with fright and surprise at the sudden shock.

Fat chance, he thought with a grim satisfaction that was mixed with annoyance at having once again become the center of attention, for once without wanting it. Every pair of eyes in the library was on the two of them as he glared down at her, putting up a face of being angrier than he really was. It was actually amusing the way she was shrinking back, as though he was some kind of threat.

His boredom momentarily forgotten, he focused on the pathetic form before him. That she had seen his sketch was obvious, because she wasn't meeting his gaze, instead focused on the paper. Anyone else would probably have been angry about it, but she didn't seem to know how to take it or what to do about it. Feigning a feeling of wrath, he flipped open the lighter, allowing a burning orb to alight his fingers, holding it up before her as though getting ready to throw it. The girls muddy hair took on a red glow in the light of the flame and her eyes gleamed in fear.

"I-I'm sorry," she finally managed, her voice barely audible over the whispers. Her fingers were shaking. "I w-was just – "

"Just lurking around like a freak," he told her unkindly, holding the fireball up higher in front of her. Her eyes flitted back and forth to the blazing orb in his hands. "Don't you have anyone else to go annoy? Or do you have to nose around me?"

"Leave her alone, Pyro!"

"Geez, you're such a jerk!"

He ignored the usual catcalls and focussed on instilling fear in the pathetic specimen before him. It felt good to be in control. He liked it. He wasn't too prude to think so either. Anyone else would have felt guilty at the way she was looking around for an escape but he couldn't care less. Besides, this was good enough payback for the possessionthing. He'd lied when he said he hadn't really cared. Truth was, he held a grudge.

After a moment she managed to finally straighten up, inching away and not meeting his gaze. She was mumbling quietly and tightening her grip on her jacket, holding on so firmly that her knuckles were turning a constrained white, "I just wanted…to ask you about…I…never mind."

He sneered at her, about to say something when she looked up, eyes glinting with some unknown emotion. It took him a second before he realized that it was hurt and by then she was looking back at the sketch on the paper.

Before he could even register it, she was gone; whether she had physically run off or of she had turned into her messy smoky self and flown away, he didn't know. Didn't care either. Glowering over at his audience until they looked away, muttering, he sat back down at the table and propped his boots up again. That had been oddly satisfying and he found himself to be in a better mood. The part of him that could be a real asshole wanted to go after her and set her on fire or something, but he figured that in the all knowing mind of Xavier, would be pushing it.

He wondered vaguely what she had actually been behind him or even in the back alcove where no one went (which was why he liked it); it wasn't as though she had known he was writing about her and come over to tell him to stop. Even if she had known, he couldn't exactly picture the shy basket case to actually speak up about it – she only ever seemed to defend herself when personal attacks hit her directly. She might very well have been told to come over by the others to ask him about something or maybe even ask him to join their 'study group'.

He glanced down at the sketch he'd written out and read it over. It was good stuff; not his best, but not his worst. A couple phrases jumped out at him that were keepers. Now that he was looking it over again, he wondered if maybe he and this unknown girl might not have more in common than just their aversion to people. She was bound to be completely out of her element here, even after three weeks. If she had been anything like him, it would probably take her a few months to understand what's going on.

But then, he thought again, her type didn't seem like the type who would ever _want_ to know what was going on.

With a bored smirk he ripped the pages out of the notebook and lit them on fire, watching them shrivel and disappear into an orange sheen. Tangy, noxious fumes sprang up from the tiny blaze.

When he had first discovered his powers he had been scared; anyone would be scared if they had been in the middle of a beating when their father suddenly began shrieking because his cigar had blown up in his face. Unlike most mutants, Pyro hadn't doubted for a moment that it was because of him. He had just known. He liked to think that was another superior attribute of his. Just like he had known not to mention the burn on his father's face was his fault to either parent – he didn't want a beating and he didn't want a lecture on religion from his fanatic mother.

The amount of Hail Mary's and Our Father's that his mother had made him recite for just spilling milk on the rug had been enough to make him want to cut out his own voice box.

He'd quickly figured out how to manifest his powers, setting off quite a few school smoke alarms in the process, and discovered that he couldn't be burned by the flames he controlled. He could be in command of any flame in his sight, as far as he could see. Make it grow, make it shrink.

He let the fire take over and grow until it was a changing, burning sphere in his hand. It didn't matter how small the flame started out as, he could always make it bigger. He liked to see just how big he could get it until someone told him to put it out. He'd once accidentally set fire to the garbage can in the kitchen that way. Bobby and DB hadn't let him forget that one for weeks.

He shook his hand out, letting the flame die and the ashes from the paper litter the floor in shards, earning a disapproving glare from someone through the shelves. He flipped whoever it was the bird and fell into another rush of thoughts.

Ashes.

Hm.

He thought back to the petrified girl, practically exploding into the ash-coloured smoke. Ashes remained where fire had reigned its destruction.

Pyro snorted at his twisted poetry; he had fire issues.

Glancing at his watch more out of habit than actually wanting to know the time, he pushed back his chair.

He decided the homework would never get done and stood up, working out the kinks in his back. Without bothering to take the books with him, he strode out of the library in the direction of the kitchen. Eventually they'd turn up again and it would be more of an excuse to goof off in school. He figured he would go find Daleigh, see if she was in a mood.

The Metallica song was finally out of his head.

* * *

TBC  
PS: Sorry if I ticked off some Metallica fans; I have nothing against Metallica - but evidently, Johnny does... 


	5. Volume One: September 26, 2000

**_Smoke and Mirrors  
by ErtheChilde _**

Authors Note: John can not be held accountable for being an ass; he's a sixteen-year-old boy, what do you expect? I'm living with a teenaged brother right now and John is currently projecting his moods… Also, for the record to those of you who don't know that Ashlynn is from Quebec, Canada, her name is pronounced _Ash-lain Rii-shard._ The 'n' and the 'd' are silent.

* * *

_Chapter Five: _

He'd taken to calling her Ashes in his mind ever since the confrontation in the library two days earlier; the idea of being able to reduce this interloper to something as harmless and effortlessly overcome as ash appealed to him. Gave him that happy, floating feeling.

He liked the thought of being in control. Besides, for some reason, the name just fit – he wasn't close enough and didn't like her enough to call her 'Ash' like everyone else did, couldn't be bothered to find out what her real first name was and calling her _Richard_ just didn't work. He kept picturing an unshaven prison guy whenever he thought that name and as much as he disliked her, the idea of creepy, bald, unshaven prison guy was slightly more unnerving.

Then again, she was testing his judgment in that respect at that exact moment.

She'd been staring at them both for two hours now. Sometimes at the same time, sometimes just him, sometimes just DB. But the point was, she was staring at _them_, with a calculating look on her face, like she was struggling to understand something.

He was tempted to ask her if social graces were a new thing for her but had a feeling she would probably react with a confused look and then avert her gaze. It was like all she could do was look away when someone caught her staring; no apology, no defence, just pretend it didn't happen.

Pyro was getting sick of it. He was also getting sick of the fact that he seemed to be the only person who was annoyed by this little twit who didn't seem to have two brain cells to rub together. It was one thing to be shy – Pete was shy and he didn't bug Pyro at all, excepting the odd knowing glance that made him think of an adult scrutinizing him – but Ashes took it to a completely different level. It was almost sickening.

The classroom was brimming with kids, why couldn't she go sit with some other group? Her quiet against the laughing and carrying in their little corner was unnerving, especially coupled with the unsettling stare. Oh, that's right; DB had decided to play Mother Theresa to the basket case.

_Girls_.

Somewhere in the background, one of the guys was handing back assignments for their Ethics class. Floating back, was more like, as the minute he read off a name and someone answered, the paper flew easily over to its owner. Pyro rolled his eyes. Telekinesis was just an over-evolved form of laziness, in his opinion.

Just as he thought it, his paper landed with a smack against the table. He glowered at the teen, who ignored him, and read out the next name.

"Ashlynn Richard."

She got the decency of a less brutal toss, he noticed angrily, as her paper flew gently over and landed in her hands. She didn't spare it more than a glance before she looked up again, presumably to keep staring at him or Daleigh. It occurred to him that maybe she might possibly perceive something was going on, probably from her endless snooping.

Since the library incident, he was convinced that she was nothing but a sneak, and it didn't help that her ability to sift about made it near impossible for anyone to know if she was there or not. If she used it, of course. He along with everyone else had realized the reluctance the girl had to her given abilities. It was like she believed by not using them, they would go away.

'Retard,' he thought with a barely perceptible shake of his head. He blinked as though suddenly realizing something. Retard, Richard. The difference between the two was nearly inaudible. He chuckled out loud, suddenly wondering if he wasn't the greatest genius to walk these halls.

"What're you laughing at?" Bobby asked, looking down his nose at him in what might be curiosity, but which John liked to think of as patronization.

Pyro ignored him and turned to Ashes, who wasn't looking at him anymore. "Hey, I just realized how close your name sounds to _retard_. It explains a lot, doesn't it?"

There were groans all around him, but he ignored them, waiting for the glint of hurt to overtake her expression before he sat back, well pleased with himself.

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it, _St-John_," DB countered, immediately there to stand up for the silent girl. She glanced over and then grinned, grabbing Ashes' paper and holding it up for him to see the A+ that Storm had marked brightly red. "And judging from these, it doesn't look like she's as mentally deficient as you think."

Ashes coloured, jumping for the pages and hiding them underneath her heavy jacket the minute she managed to wrest them from DB's hands. For an entirely different reason, Pyro felt his cheeks tinge as well, suddenly acutely aware of the less than passable grade his paper had gotten.

He opened his mouth to retort angrily, but stopped when he saw the usually mute girl was watching them again, perplexed. This time DB saw it as well, because at the same instance that he demanded, "What're you looking at?!" she asked, "What's up, Ash?"

She quickly glanced away, allowing her long bangs to shadow her face. "It's nothing."

DB obviously wanted to pursue the matter, but was interrupted by a loud voice.

"Has anyone here been following the debates?" Storm's tone was as sharp as the lightening she could create as she tried to regain control of the class. What had been a discussion period had turned into each little clique turning their attention to their own business.

Only a few kids, the ones that usually opted to listen when Xavier was giving his political science lectures looked remotely into what Storm was saying.

"Come on, guys, this affects you, try to show a little more enthusiasm," the white haired weather witch pronounced, almost near exasperation. "Jean was speaking at the press conference yesterday, don't tell me no one watched it."

One of the younger ones, the Pryde kid, hesitantly raised her hand, like she didn't want to draw attention to herself. 'Too late,' Pyro thought with a smirk to himself as he toyed with the thoughts of setting the end of his desk on fire, 'everyone wants to hear what you've gotta say, fool…'

"I don't think it's fair that they want us to register," she said immediately, it being a given that everyone knew what she was talking about, not even going into detail about what had happened. "It's exactly like what they made us do in the Holocaust."

Pyro rolled his eyes. He had been waiting for that one to come up. Kitty Pryde liked to remind everyone that her family had lived through the war, had been hunted because of their religion. She figured she was just reminding people – he figured it was a cry for attention. The girl was like a freakin' carbon copy of Bobby. 'Perfect in everyway,' he added mockingly to himself.

"She's got a point," another kid from the political science class, Jubilee, he realized after a moment, spoke up, "if the mutant registration bill gets passed, how long before they start shipping us off to camps and trying to get rid of us. The registration is an effort to dehumanize us, just like what the Nazis did."

"This isn't a comparison with the Holocaust," Storm said evenly, "I wanted to know what you all thought about the arguments being brought to the table. Before you attack an issue, it's better to look at it from all sides. Else wise we're not different from them, trying to bend this democracy to our own needs." She sat down on her desk and nodded to the Pryde girl, whose hand was already in the air. "What was one of the issues?"

"'Are mutants dangerous?'" she spouted out like a good school girl.

Pyro snorted, so loud he caught the attention of the others.

Storm crossed her arms, "Something to say, John?"

Heads turned his way and his smirk widened when he realized the direction things were suddenly turning in. It constantly happened when he had the floor. He cleared his throat and kicked his legs up onto the desk, the sound making Ashes twitch in surprise three seats away. "No shit mutants are dangerous, what's so hard to answer about that?"

There were noisy murmurs in the room, the people who couldn't take the truth glowering at him, while others strained forward; wanting to hear what he had to say. Storm didn't look pleased behind the encouraging smile and John was counting on the fact that, as usual, he was ruffling feathers. "Explain – and watch the language."

"Tell me that some kid that can blow up a city block with just a lighter and a bad mood isn't dangerous," he challenged her. "And what about you – if you wanted to you could destroy the world based on the weather – a little thunder and lightening here, a little fire and brimstone there, it's all gone."

"That is why we're all here," Storm told him evenly. "To learn not to do it. To learn judgement, to try to live like others – "

"But we're not others," John snapped. "We're better than others, and hell yeah, we're dangerous – to anyone that wants to screw around with us. And if those suits in the government decide to make us register, I think we should send them a little welcome wagon with our best to tell them 'fuck off'."

"Language!" Storm reminded him, but he understood as well as she did that it was just a formality. No one really bothered about his language anymore.

"Well it's true," he shrugged. In front of him, DB sent him a piercing glare. He knew that these debates annoyed her; for some reason she always got extremely quiet around them.

"It's also true that non-mutants are dangerous," Bobby suddenly spoke up. "I mean, they're the ones who came up with the atomic bomb and toxic gases and it's their fault that there's global warming – "

"Yeah, sure, blame them for the atomic bomb when we could be sitting next to some kid who if he sneezes turns the whole city into Chernobyl," Pyro sneered. "Then who are you gonna blame? The fact is, we're the next step and if something like that does happen, we're gonna be the only ones able to survive it. It's inevitable."

"This isn't a discussion on evolution, John, it's a discussion on ethics," Storm said firmly, the look on her face telling him to kindly shut up. John was smart enough to stop talking; usually he would pursue the matter, but he didn't really have any intention of spending the rest of the afternoon cooped up in the professor's study to discuss his _feelings_ . "Back to the main issue. The Mutant Registration Act is only a thought at the moment, not a worry. The government only want to assess the threat of mutants – which we've heard a series of arguments about. The question being, are mutants dangerous if they are not controlled or are they dangerous if they are not taught?"

"What's the difference?" A girl's husky voice asked from where she was sitting by the window; Tabitha raised an eyebrow at Storm challengingly. "Isn't that what teaching is? A way to control people? Education is just the opiate of the masses, right?"

There were cheers and even Pyro couldn't help barking out a _hell yeah_. There was usually an over apparent opportunity to bash the education system, whether in a school for freaks or not.

Storm took it with a grain of salt, waiting for the commotion to die down a little before she spoke. "Education is meant to brighten your futures and bring you knowledge so that one day you can decide if you _want_ to be controlled or be free to your own devices."

"Who would want to be controlled?" Pyro demanded. "Who would be stupid enough to choose to let someone else control what they do?"

"Maybe dey might 'ave no choice."

The words nearly went unheard, so silent it was just a whisper through the air in the room. In fact, it was only those closest to her that actually realized she had spoken and quieted down accordingly. With their silence, came that of the rest of the room.

She wasn't even meeting anyone's gaze, instead just staring down at the cheap wood of her desk, concentrating on one of the smudged pencil doodles that decorated it. Her hair hung in front of her face, obscuring her expression from sight. "Maybe dey know dat dey're _dangereux_ and don't want to 'urt people."

It was the shock of her speaking, a steady voice of her own free will, which held the silence in the room. Even Storm was looking at the girl with the air of someone mystified. Pyro was sure he was the only one who didn't seem to care that the mute girl had suddenly decided to speak. What was he supposed to do, bring up a chorus of halleluiahs and thank God for a miracle? Instead, he focused his attention on DB, who suddenly perked up and stared at Ashes the way someone transfixed might.

"That's an interesting point of view," Storm considered, and then gave the shy girl a pleased look. "I'm glad you decided to share it with us. I take it your counselling sessions with Professor Xavier are going well?"

The girl didn't reply, suddenly regaining her shy quality, her cheeks turning red. Pyro couldn't help but feel slightly pitying of her. He hated when the teachers told everyone that someone was in counselling. It was like they were gently telling them to back off and forgive any stupidity that came out of their mouths. In this case it was literally.

Next to him DB was opening and closing her mouth as though she had something to say but couldn't get it out. Every now and then she would stare at Ashes like it was the mute that held the answers, and seconds later the expression would be replaced with frustration.

Annoyed that even the brazen Celt, who more often than not despite their arguments tended to hold with his belief in not getting involved with politics, had her full attention on Ashes, he tried to remind the girl of where she was, guffawing loudly, "You mean a considerate person? They don't exist anymore."

"You'd know," DB interjected under her breath, although the rest of the class heard it fine. There were a few sniggers and smirks sent his way, but John pretended he didn't feel slightly chastised. She glanced at him pointedly, a fiery anger in her stare that was usually only reserved for when he viciously insulted her. "You're an arrogant arse."

He grinned unpleasantly at her. "And you're a cocky loser."

"Okay, fine, I'm cocky – cocky is knowin' that you can handle yourself and knowin' when to back off when you've been beat," she snarled. "Arrogant is being so caught up in yourself that you think you're immortal. There's a difference."

"Not much, Queen Ego Trip."

"Guys, a little maturity," Storm cut in sternly, "keep your squabbling for your own time. Ashlynn, I don't think you were finished." The older woman smiled gently. "Continue?"

Pyro half expected her to shy away, but she didn't. Instead, there was a pause and she gazed firmly at the desk, like it was that which kept her from delving back into herself. He could practically see the debate in her mind, whether to ignore Storm or to try to get her point across. He'd noticed that same mannerism over the past few days, like she was actually trying to be normal. He wanted to tell her that it was futile, none of them were normal.

It took her almost a minute, which Storm was generous enough to give her, sending annoyed looks at the kids who were whispering and making fun, before she added, "Some mutants have powers that are hazardous to themselves and others – and they know that the only way to keep everyone safe is to put restraints on them. Or put them in confinement. Maybe even get rid of them all together."

A few people gasped, and the Pryde girl cried, "That's horrible. No one should have to sacrifice themselves, especially if they get help. Maybe registering the dangerous mutants wouldn't be so bad – because then they'd get help and wouldn't have to die, and – "

"Only dangerous mutants register?" Ashes repeated, her tone chilling with the calm, icy tone that lingered through it. "'ow can you tell 'oo's dangerous and 'oo's not wit'out registering all of dem? And den, 'ow do you classify dangerous? 'oo gets to assign de level of danger? It's no ones right."

"So we have to just wait for whoever these dodgy mutants are to somehow conjure up a conscience?" Pyro drawled loudly. "I think I'll stick to waiting for gay marriages to be legalized." Out of nowhere DB's fist slammed into his shoulder, the boney knuckles painfully bruising him. "Ow, shit, what's your problem?!"

"My problem is you, you mouldy tosser," she cried. "Your heads up your arse about your own problems, don't go pulling other peoples in just for argument' sake."

With a growl, he was standing, brandishing the fireball that these days seemed to be attached his hand. At the same time, DB was up, brows narrowed in concentration, the air around her shimmering the way heat vapour did. From experience, he was already expecting that this area was where she would bring forth whatever horror she felt like visiting upon him.

"Both of you, sit down," Storm thundered, sounding as vicious as the element itself. "Why does every discussion turn into a physical battle with you two? We are not here to compete over whose powers are the most advanced or destructive – now sit down before you both go see Professor Xavier."

As they sat, Pyro felt Ashes' gaze on the two of them, her eyes doing the eerie thing where it was like she was staring right through them. Her eyebrows were creased in a manner that suggested she was puzzling over something, but the rest of her expression remained blank.

He waited for her to become aware of the fact that he was staring right back at her and when their gazes locked, he glowered warningly. The reaction was instantaneous, her attention flying back down to the desk graffiti. The resolute square of her shoulders that had come during her momentary lapse into argument disappeared and she pulled into herself, the scared, shy wench she'd been since she arrived here.

Even when Storm asked her to continue, she couldn't be roused from whatever stupor she was in this time and eventually the instructor stopped trying.

(-)

The alcove under the stairs was usually abandoned and if it wasn't, it was easy to tell. Pyro had first found it two years earlier when he'd been looking for a hiding space from Sven and Harlan who, at ten, were three times worse than twelve. The shadowy overhang of the stairs easily hid whoever was beneath it unless someone was actually looking for them – then it seemed to bare all.

He was confident that no one but he had any idea about the alcove, and if they did, didn't give it much thought. Which was why when the classes ended for the day and everyone else had gone off to goof or get ready for the weekend, he hauled DB off by the wrist and dragged her into the shadows.

"What the hell is with you!" he snapped, hoping that even in the darkness his glare could find the little bitch. "You've been spouting hot and cold all day and it's really beginning to piss me off."

"Since when have I ever cared about pissing you off?!" she shot back, ripping her arm out of his grasp and pushing him. "And don't ever touch me like that again or there'll be wigs on the green!"

He paused for a second and then hissed, "What does that even mean?"

She cracked her knuckles and tried to act imposing, an act which was nearly impossible for a waif of less than five feet. "Don't go giving me any incentive to show you." After a tense moment of glaring, she finally sighed, seemingly backing down. He knew better. She was trying to corner him now. "Is there a specific reason that you're being such a pain in the hole to Ash? Or is it just you being you?"

He grunted in response, moving away from her and leaning back against the walls of the alcove. He could hear someone marching down the stairs, but ignored it. After a spell, he fixed her with a piercing glance and asked, "Ever get the feeling she's watching you? And not just like today, but all the time?"

DB appeared genuinely baffled. "I never get that."

"Then you're too dense to notice it, because she's always staring at us and it bugs me. I've got enough freaks staring at me, I don't need her on my case."

DB folded her arms at him and raised an eyebrow. "Does this have anything to do with the fact that you yelled at her in the library the other day?" He opened his mouth to answer and she held up a hand, "Pete and Kitty were there, an' told me. You're a right Muzzy, you know? When things don't go your way."

"Like you aren't," he scoffed mockingly. "I at least don't try to alter reality so it suits my needs. I know perfectly well when I'm fucked over."

"Yeah, but you still complain about it after wards," she told him dismissively. "You're incorrigible."

"And you're annoying, you don't see me getting all preachy about it," he told her sullenly. "Especially with how you're practically stuck to that girl these days; everything you do is to keep her from getting walked on by the real world."

"Oh, and I suppose you think you're the _real world_?" she asked him, tone threatening to turn into a mocking cackle. "Just because you grew up in a slum with folks who were thoroughly out of their heads doesn't give you the right to pretend you get to be Law-Man and baptise her in the ways of society. You're pretty much slim pickin's for that yourself. In fact, I bet the two of you would have more in common than you think if you stopped being a wanker and she opened up – which is what I'm trying to get her to do."

"Why?" he demanded childishly. "You never care about any of the new kids that show up here – you're usually the one making life a living hell for 'em. What's different about her? You got some lesbian crush on her or something?"

This time when she lashed out she managed to catch his jaw with her fist, but the hit itself wasn't enough to cause much harm. He swore at her a little and then let it go, settling for a glare. He figured if he tried to pull a fire stunt he'd probably set the stairs on alight – and he didn't feel like explaining _that_ to the old man.

He frowned at her. "Well? What is it then?"

For once in her life, DB was silent; obviously she was trying to come up with a satisfactory answer to his question and unable to find a way to totally bullshit her way out of it. This, for some reason, worried Pyro, as since he had met the brat, there had never been a situation that she couldn't talk herself out of in a snap.

"She reminds me of me," she said after a moment.

He couldn't help that scornful laugh. "Yeah? How's that? You actually talk and could pass for normal outside of Xavier's Freak Circus. She looks like if some homeless guy on the street asked her for money, she'd have a heart attack."

"I didn't mean like that," Daleigh retorted sharply, tossing her hair. "I meant…" she caught his eyes and stopped, "Never mind, it's none of your business. I don't have to tell you anything. In fact, I don't have to be around you when you're like this!"

"Like what?"

"Paranoid," she jibed, already waltzing off.

It took him a second before he moved after her, grabbing hold of her shoulder, "Hey, wait – !"

"What now?" she turned to stare at him, bored, sizing him up the way his mother used to when he had done something bad and she was thinking about how to punish him. He pretended not to see it and allowed one side of his mouth to fix in a smirk.

"Well, while we're here…"

At first it was like she didn't understand, and then seconds later she was swatting him. "You're a pervert, you know?"

He snorted. "Oh, but when you're a pervert, I have to go along with it?"

"You're a guy – if it's offered to you, you take it," she told him earnestly, yet scathing at the same time, "I never force you into anything, do I?"

And she was gone.

He glared at the space she was now absent from, and then angrily lashed out at the wall.

He hated girls.

* * *

TBC 


	6. Volume One: September 29, 2000

**_Smoke and Mirrors  
by ErtheChilde _**

* * *

_Chapter Six: _

Three days later and his name was still mud with DB; honestly, when it wasn't one thing, it was the other. He wondered why he even put up with the girl, her moods changed faster than the weather when Storm was PMSing.

He frowned thoughtfully, and then considered two very good reasons why he put up with the ginger haired hellion.

Ever-present self-satisfied smirk on his face, he went back to the scribbling. His notebook looked a lot worse for the wear, but for almost a week now he had been able to do almost nothing else. It was as though the fire that he wanted to encompass everything in was in his veins, swimming in his mind and telling him to write. None of it was good – hell he was sure his dead grandmother could come up with better poetry than this – but for some reason, just the act of writing it out had a calming effect on him.

He'd been a lot more frustrated lately, almost to the point of beating up one of the freshman just to suppress his feelings. He wondered if Golden Boy Bobby ever got random spurts of anger or if Pete ever wanted to just hit someone until they bled. He snorted, remembering after a short while that it was just him and that he had issues. How many times had DB told him anyway?

And since when did he actually listen to what she had to say? He squinted up at the dark ceiling of the alcove beneath the stares as he tried to answer this question. The response was almost immediate – when she stopped talking to him.

He recognized that he was being a brat about it (not that he'd ever admit this out loud), but didn't see the point in doing anything to rectify it. The situation with DB was like one of his playthings was being denied him and he was melancholy and out of sorts because of it. What gave her the right to tell him off and call him on his behaviour when he was sure she was a closet mental case? If anyone had the right to complain about anything, it was him about her!

He added a flourish to one of his words, just because he felt like it and because it appeared cool. And then suddenly, like his work had morally offended him or something he let out a growl of annoyance and tossed the book upside the wall nearby, glaring at it as it fell with a depressed _thump_ to the ground.

Goddamn it, he was bored! He'd skipped Social Studies for that exact reason and here he was actually wishing he was in class. At least then he might be able to get in some kind of trouble, which would be better than sitting here pretending to be the fucking Bard. It didn't matter that the words wanted out, this was not the outlet he wanted to use right now! He wanted to burn something or someone until all that was left was the dusty air and a faint smell of smoke.

He toyed with the idea of setting the mansion ablaze, but then remembered how many mutants here had powers that easily quelled fire. It'd be like pissing in the wind.

Finally deciding to leave the niche beneath the stairs and lurk around until an opportunity presented itself, he stood heavily and roughly grabbed the notebook. Just as he was straightening up, though, he heard a soft tread of feet coming around the corner. Before he could even think up a good cover story as to what he was doing there, she was in front of him.

He really should have seen it coming, considering his diehard belief in Murphy's Law.

An expression of surprise registered on Ashes' face, telling him right away she hadn't expected him to be there. Gasping and tightening her hold on the heavy books she held in her arms, she skidded to a stop, wrinkling the ornate carpet on the floor.

"What do you want?" he sneered. "Come to spy on me some more?"

He really didn't feel bad that he wasn't cutting her any slack; if the old coot was telling her people were all nice and would step down their own feelings for her development, he hoped he was giving her a nice hard lesson in life. That it sucked.

She gaped, her mouth opening and closing almost reminiscent of a fish, looking everywhere but at him. He easily noticed the effort on her face, knew that she was considering turning around and running away like she always did. It was like running away was her only method of dealing with conflict. She actually took a few steps back, ready to go, but then steeled herself there, a frown of immense concentration taking over her features. His surprise almost bordered on being amazed when she finally, hesitantly answered, "N-no. I j-just wanted to – "

She held up the hardbacks for him to see and fumbled with one, causing it to fall to the ground. She barely moved before the weighty thing crushed her toe. Instantly she was on the ground picking them up again, her hair falling down in such a way that the back of her neck showed. It was red, probably from embarrassment.

'Klutz,' he thought peevishly, staring angrily at her. 'Predictable klutz.'

When her things were finally gathered and held tightly to her chest, she finally stared up, her weird two-toned eyes finally meeting his gaze for a fleeting second before shying away. Her words rushed out, quickly, like she was trying to get them all out before she lost her nerve. "I came here t-to read. Daleigh…she won't let me. She wants me to play, uh – _comment s'appelle le baby-foot? – _oh, right, foosball. She tries to take my, uh, dese from me, so I came 'ere. I was just trying to find a place to sit and I didn't realize anyone else knew about it." She glanced at him, stricken, already turning.

He raised an eyebrow, unable to help himself to the teasing jibe. "You realize that's the most you've ever said in one shot, right?" He snorted, leaning back against the wall broodingly. Inwardly, he couldn't help remarking on the fact that she too was trying to find somewhere to be alone. It nearly made him laugh out loud that DB was trying to force her into the social scene, and he could just picture her physically yanking the other girl**'**s books from her hand and dragging her into the living area. "Maybe sessions with the old man are helping. You're screwed up enough that he can actually help you."

Her shoulders curved in a defeat of some kind. "I'll go."

"Probably a good idea," he told her coolly, "considering DB also knows about this place." Her eyes widened in a panic and he chuckled mirthlessly. "Relax, she won't look here. She knows this is where I'm hanging out today and is pissed at me. You're safe."

It wasn't long before her usually blank expression narrowed into suspicion. Interesting. He hadn't known she was capable of such an emotion. "Why are you being nice to me?"

He scoffed, " Moron, this isn't nice – this isn't even remotely pleasant, and if you had any idea about people you'd get that." She appeared slightly wounded by that comment and he decided to see how far he could take it. He flicked out his lighter and began to play with it idly, answering her former question, "I'm _tolerating you_, for the simple reason that when she actually walks by I can point you out to her and have some entertainment. I'm fucking bored."

She blinked stupidly at him. He wondered if it was her actually trying to understand what he was saying, or if she was just mentally slow.

"Oh."

She glanced at her things, then back at him, and then inched slowly away. He expected her leave him alone, but instead, she merely calculated a safe distance between the two and propped the larger ones up on her knees.

"What are you doing?" The question sounded more inquisitive and less indignant than he had intended,

She jumped, which was understandable since he'd never asked her a question in an almost civil tone before. "R-reading."

"Not that, why are you still here?" He wanted to know.

"Because it's quiet," she said after a moments thought, "and d-dere's no one else 'ere."

He snorted angrily, "And what am I, chopped liver?"

"You don't talk to me usually," she said after another pause of silence. She sent him fleeting glances for a few minutes, giving the impression that she was expecting him to yell at her or drive her off, before focussing on her books.

So her logic was that he didn't talk to her? Did that mean if he started making her talk she would go away? The plan was juvenile, but he was in the right mood to try it. "Here, I'm talking to you – why aren't you gone yet? This is my spot."

He was definitely being childish now, but didn't care. The attempt itself was stupid, but it served the purpose of bringing her out of her reading reverie. She peered at him with an air of consternation, like she was remembering she wasn't alone or that the person she was sitting with happened to hate her the most for no apparent reason; which was true enough as even he couldn't figure out why he didn't like her.

First of all, this was the skittish chit who couldn't stand to be around anyone without becoming fidgety. And, out of everyone, he had made her, or tried his hardest to make her feel the most unwelcome. Why she would seem this calm or devoid of expression around him was confusing. Second of all, she had been ignoring him. No one ignored him, or at least no one did it as effortlessly as she did. He wondered if she had just turned off the part of her brain that recognized that people were around.

She hadn't even twitched in three full minutes; he was getting annoyed.

"Now!"

This time she jumped, as though realizing he wasn't screwing around. She began to collect her things, fingers trembling, sending furtive glances at him while he watched. "Okay."

Simple, short answers. All delivered in a quiet tone that conveyed what an effort it was to have a conversation with him, but with an undertone of frustration that he was making her talk. Completely passive aggressive. Pyro wanted to set her on fire or something to at least get some reaction from her, instead of the doubt and near challenging manner. She sounded like she was testing the waters, seeing how far she could go with this sudden newfound bravery.

He made a noise that sounded curiously like a cross between a snarl and a grunt, trying to form his next plan of action. Telling her to get the hell out of there was obviously not going to get the job done fast enough, and leaving himself was no longer an option (disregarding the fact that he'd wanted to leave seconds before she had shown up). Now that she was in his space, he wanted her to recognize it was his space. Yes, he was getting into a pointless pissing contest over territory, but that was fine with him.

His gaze fell on one of the titles that she was struggling to keep from falling over again and he was momentarily floored. _The Sound and The Fury_ by Faulkner. He squinted at the others, feeling a note of disgust mixed one of being mildly impressed; _Finnegans Wake _and _Ulysses_ by James Joyce, a bilingual copy of Dante's _Devine Comedy, _a Latin version of _Ovid_…

John wasn't overly educated, but knew for a fact that these were pretty heavy reading material, especially for a fourteen year old girl whose first language wasn't even English. His initial thoughts of her being a little dim were evidently misplaced – but he'd already acknowledged that.

"You're a freak," he said plainly, his voice startling even himself. It hadn't dawned on him how quiet it had gotten between them. "No one reads that shit. And if they do, they don't understand it."

"I do," she replied nearly inaudibly, finally managing to get a hand on her things without fumbling them and holding them tightly to her, a kind of protection.

He didn't know whether he should laugh or throw up. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

She appeared to consider his remark and then after thinking it through for a second, tentatively commented, "Kind of like a flamet'rower 'oo writes poetry?"

He knew she didn't mean it as a threat, socially defunct as she was, but it was enough of an excuse for him to gesture at her threateningly, "You tell anyone and I'll burn you until there's nothing left to dissemble."

The glint of fear and then she lowered her head, chastised for her momentary bravery, mumbling a subdued, "Okay."

Instantly he felt the slight guilt one experiences when one kicks a puppy or bullies an old woman; his wits caught up with his mouth a minute later and he reminded himself, who would she tell? She wouldn't voluntarily talk to people and the only time she did venture anything was when frustration or anger remained too much to keep barrelled up. That had been evidence enough when it came to the debates in class the other day.

The shit-disturbing part of him wanted to see what would happen if he got her mad, but the somewhat rationale side told him that this chick was so soft she probably didn't understand more than one emotion at a time. It was evident, though, from the slowly disappearing timidity that she knew and saw more than she let on. Pyro had only met a few people like that in his life and experience had taught him that they were the ones that needed to be watched the most.

"You can leave now," he prompted her when after a full minute she was still standing there, staring at him. "Screw off, go to class or something. Leave me alone."

"I don't have that class," she murmured demurely.

"So let me get this straight," he held up his hands, staring like she was some kind of alien. "You have free time…and you're reading stuff that no one within an eight mile radius of some boring ass university gives a damn about?"

She mulled this over and then nodded.

Pyro didn't have any idea what to say; words couldn't help him describe how pathetic that was. But then again, she at least had something to do, while he was stuck sitting here, flicking his lighter open and closed with practiced ease and analyzing said pathetic form. Life wasn't fair.

_Flick-click_.

Just predictable, apparently.

He raised an eyebrow at her; why she hadn't disappeared yet was both irritating him and intriguing him. She looked like she wanted to say something to him but didn't know how to get it out. Suddenly, he felt mildly interested as to what it was. It occurred to him that if he ask her, she might actually tell him, especially if cornered.

DB never answered anything he asked her and even less often divulged something about her past. The only moment he could say with semi-self assuredness was that she had mentioned offhand one day that she used to skip rocks with her brother in Ireland when she was much younger. And that told him absolutely nothing about her whatsoever.

"What?" His voice was harsh and rough and visibly shook her. He liked having that effect and made a mental note to do it more often. "You're staring at me with that stupid doe-eyed expression on your face – it's creepy. Just come out and say it."

She was surprised, to say the least, for a short time tongue-tied as she tried to say something. She still wouldn't look at him, which he was beginning to find tiring.

"Just spit it out or get the hell away from me!" he hissed.

"Do you…do you smoke?"

He stared at her. She was watching him curiously and a little like she expected him to lash out at her now that she had ventured out of her shell and directed something at him. "Huh?"

He knew that wasn't what she had been about to ask and from her expression, she knew that he knew as well and tried to play up to the question. "I mean, wit' de lighter…i-is dat just for your, uh, your gifts, or – "

For the sake of boredom and actually having someone to talk to, he answered the phoney query.

"I want to rule the world one day, why would I do something stupid like limit my lifespan for a momentary addiction?" he deadpanned, the sarcasm in his voice cutting. He didn't bother mentioning that the amount of burns he'd gotten from cigarette butts when he was younger, before his mutant powers showed up, had put some kind of psychological block on ever wanting to smoke. He even had trouble being around DB when she went for a drag.

"Oh."

He frowned at her calculatingly and after a momentary consideration, "Do you?"

She was startled at the question and then shrugged, trying to make herself smaller under his scrutiny. "I never tried. I was n-never able to keep myself togeder long enough, to…to do anyt'ing. Just eating and sleeping was de most I was ever able to do, and – "

She froze, glancing up in shock at him and then hid her face again. Pyro recognized the fear in her eyes, the worry that she might have given too much away. But the reassuring fact behind it was that there actually was something to give away. Behind this faceless, usually voiceless girl there actually was a kind of past and a kind of story. For the first instant since meeting her, there was an endearing quality to her.

But that didn't mean he liked her any better than before; she was still thoroughly weird and creepy.

He flipped open the Zippo, studying the flame. When he realized that her gaze, hidden though it was, was still focused on the lighter he sighed, and tried to adopt a more civil attitude. It was proving to be harder in practice than in principal. "I need this to do anything at all. I can't make fire just appear, I can only control it."

"I know."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

Ashes appeared apologetic. "When I…when I, uh, took over…" For a fleeting second he didn't know what she was talking about before it all rushed back and he wondered how he could have possibly forgotten. Considering it was a main reason not to like her. "Sorry."

"You _should_ be sorry about turning me into a walking talking marionette," his tone was flat and unimpressed. "That was disturbing."

"I'm not sorry about that," she told him, her voice not shaking at all in her earnestness. When he sent her a surprised glance, her expression changed to dawning comprehension. "You're right, I should be. Sorry."

They both knew she was lying. He didn't pursue the matter; she was getting antsy and he expected her to break into a fleeing run at any moment. "So what were you saying sorry for before then?"

She shrugged again. He was getting annoyed with the gesture right about now, but let it go, instead focussing on her near-as-not act of contrition. It was a moment before he became conscious of what she was apologizing about and his disgust got in the way of his response.

"Stop apologizing over your powers," he grumbled, "there are enough losers in here doing that. You can't help what you are – so don't worry about it. Think about the bigger things in life and stop being chicken-shit."

She took this in and then asked, "Like you? Walking around like the world is against you?"

That had been the last thing he'd expected to come from her, but it was out there on the table nonetheless. Instead of marvelling at her suddenly returning back-bone, he went on the defensive.

"The world is against me, where have you been?" he demanded. "The world is against _us_. We're in a this dump, which is moonlighting as a school, so they can 'teach us control' when all they're really doing is trying to turn us into domesticated dogs who can blend in with the normies. It pointless." Folding his arms and snapping the lid of the lighter down he shot back, "Why are you even here? Answer me that?"

She didn't reply.

"Exactly. You've got nowhere else to go, right? No one wants you around because you fuck up the balance," he explained, and then chuckled scornfully, "Not that you've improved much by being here. You still upset the balance here. Half the kids are scared of you, the other half don't know what to think of you, a small percentage actually give a damn and then there's me – I can't stand you."

It was obvious that she hadn't expected him to admit that out loud, maybe she had secretly been hoping that wasn't the case. It occurred to him that she almost certainly never had anyone dislike her, and he could picture her life in his mind. A shy, basket case child who didn't go near people and acted so much like a ghost that people forgot she was there. Kids couldn't hate and make fun of someone they didn't pay attention to. It was the ones that stuck out that got teased.

She'd probably gotten off really easy in life just by being the shy, pitiable loser that she was now, he thought resentfully.

He half expected and was half-startled when she moved, finally retreating out of the shadows and into the old wood panels of the mansion, murmuring something softly under her breath. It might have been a hasty excuse to move, but by the quality of her tone he had a feeling it was most likely an insult. He imagined that she had started to cry and held back a laugh.

Composing himself, Pyro focused on the space she had occupied moments before, wondering what it was about women that had them constantly leaving him in the dark of the recess by himself, and then snorted. Why bother trying to comprehend the other sex? One of them was hard enough, but the whole gender?

Some people couldn't take the truth. That wasn't his problem.

Still, the now multi-faceted personality that was Ashes remained on his mind. He had a few things to add to his long destroyed sketch of her character. He remembered his notebook, which was still there, catching dust and spiders and who knew what else lay in the shadow of the niche. The need to write was itching from his brain to his fingers, but he disregarded it. Something else was starting, a plan forming in his head.

His boredom was gone for the moment as he thought about his new plaything; not in the sense of DB. DB was conflict and confrontation wrapped up in a nice package with a few additional insults. Ashes was something else, something that reeked of past and power, whether she realized it herself or not. The story would be more interesting if she did, he thought with a sly grimace.

* * *

TBC 


	7. Volume One: October 5, 2000

**_Smoke and Mirrors  
by ErtheChilde _**

* * *

_Chapter Seven:_

She was grabbed by the waist roughly, fingernails bruising into her skin as he swung her around dizzyingly. She saw a blur of reddish-brown among the kaleidoscope of colours on the back of her eyes as the world moved, a veritable feat considering they were submerged in darkness. The pleasant shaking and spinning came to an abrupt halt he pushed her brutally into the splintery wall of the woodshed, the distance between them closed in a violent and hungered fashion. Before she could allow the sly gasp of delight to escape, a pair of eager lips descended onto hers, pushing her more roughly into the hard boards of the shed.

She broke away, laughing at him but at the same time her mind a whir of sensations, scraping her teeth along his neck as he hoisted her up between himself and the wall. The stale scent of the air was in her nose, flowing through her the same way the dust she inhaled travelled her lungs, but it didn't bother her. This place was a whole lot of forbidden and she sought more.

Out of her mind, she wanted and knew that she was seconds away from going after it. Coy games, cat and mouse, but she didn't know who was who. Daleigh wondered what might happen if she decided to take it a step further?

He let out a sharp intake of breath as her hands dangled precariously close to the metal fastening of his belt; the implication made her pause. This was just enough of an intermission for one of them to come to their senses and, in an instant, he had pulled away, defensive, watching her like she had lost her mind, the look in his eyes still muddled by desire.

"Chill out," he told her, guarded, breathing hard and running a hand through his hair; they both knew that was the last thing on his mind, but ground rules said it should be. He backed away, distancing them by a few steps, the motion of letting go making her fall back down to her feet.

She smiled, coy, instinctively feeling rather than knowing that the gesture didn't meet her eyes. Despite the heat and the intensity, she felt cold, as though liquid steel was running through her veins. She was somehow detached from the swirling sensations that lit her blood like Greek fire.

"You're twistin' hay," she breathed playfully, her voice sounding like that of a feral animal.

He glared in response, to which she didn't reply, for the moment smiling brazenly, gesturing for him to come closer to her, the come-hither-atmosphere infecting her again.

He looked at her, doubtful, a stance she was not used to seeing in him.

More out of sheer frustration at his abrupt reluctance than anything else, she pounced on him, pushing them both further until he tripped over what appeared to be an ATV lawnmower, falling back. She saw him hit his head against a watering can and swear, even as she climbed over and assailed his neck and earlobes. He smelled of burnt firewood and vanilla musk and something else she couldn't put her finger on.

It happened in an instant, as though with one blink she was gone and replaced with someone new. A light-headed, woozy feeling and she was back, frowning at him in confusion. It wasn't as though she had forgotten everything – she remembered catching him off-guard in the gardens and dragging him into the tool shed. She just didn't remember her reasons. Other than the obvious.

The liquid frost was spent, and she was herself again. The lust was gone, her heart still racing, leaving only a draining lethargy that she had been suffering from for as long as she could remember.

She hadn't been Daleigh for days now, and she knew this with certainty that scared her somewhat. She couldn't recall a feeling like this since long before even coming to the Institute – but then it had been understandable, what with her walking around like someone lost in her own life. What was happening to her now…it was disconcerting and chilling; the way she easily slipped in and out of the personality like it was an old suit that she was airing out, regardless of how much time had or hadn't passed. She didn't know how many people had noticed, if any.

Probably the professor, maybe the instructors.

Rahne, definitely; her fellow Celt had been watching her with curious eyes, the strange upturned expression on her face almost screaming that she smelled something that wasn't quite right. Daleigh attributed this sixth sense to her friend's lycanthropic tendencies and didn't know whether to be glad for it, that Rahne knew to stay away from her, or desolate because she lacked comfort. Not that she really needed or would accept comfort from anyone as a rule; when the frustration broiled her blood and turned her into the one she'd callously called her doppelganger, she had a feeling she wouldn't take it then either.

The bitter, downright mean attitude she had projected to others was different from the joking insults she was known for. People could tell by her words and the gleam in her eyes that she was being serious. Heartless was a better term for it, she thought.

Even Tabby was distancing herself, especially after a not so chaste, flirtatious display. It was usually only games between them; a show for the boys who liked to enjoy their little lesbian fantasy, one which both girls knew meant nothing. Daleigh was straight and she'd never outright asked Tabby her orientation; in the big scheme it didn't matter. Unless, like today, she decided to flaunt it around like nothing, like she was cold-blooded and out to hurt someone.

Hell, even John had just told her to slow down and back off a little before they broke ground rules. Usually that was her job.

Disgusted (she wasn't sure if it was with her or with him), she pushed away and clambered from the mower, breathing hard and trying to calm herself. She all of a sudden needed a smoke desperately and tugged at the pockets of her chocolate-brown leather jacket, hoping that it was this garment she had left them in. It was hard enough to keep the damn things from being confiscated let alone remembering which jacket or shirt she left them in. Once she'd been stupid enough to put them in the jeans she was about to wash out. Ten bucks, wasted.

This time luck was on her side, she noticed with a grateful sigh, pulling the cigarette out of the depleted pack and putting it to her lips. Patting herself down to find her lighter, which was, of course, predictably missing, she rolled her eyes heavenward and then allowed them to fall on him.

John was watching her, propped up on his elbows over the lawn abomination, a bored drawl on his face that made her want to walk over and give him a clatter. She sneered as she returned the pack back into her jacket, ignoring the feeling of tissues and lint within the crevice, and then reached up to take the fag from her mouth. "A little help?"

He groaned, pretending to be annoyed, letting his head fall back, glaring at the ceiling. After a moment he fished the ever present Zippo out of his back pocket and flipped it open; the glow didn't remain long in the lighter as it flew over, a winding spiral of flame in the air, pausing inches from her lips.

"Thanks."

Leaning forward for the light, she smiled and inhaled the noxious smoke, feeling it churn inside her before exhaling in a grey breath that immediately billowed above her head. It reminded her of the halos that icons usually found themselves surrounded by; she almost laughed out loud at the thought of herself as a saint or anything like that.

Daleigh liked smoking, whatever her friends usually told her about health-risks. In her age, everyone knew the health-risks and they would go on knowing them – but it didn't matter to her. She lied to her friends usually, saying she'd quit at some point, but was of the opinion she'd deal with it in later life. She kept telling herself there were worse things in life than lung cancer. Her face darkened at this, remembering nightmares of what exactly could be worse.

Everyone had nightmares. No one else's nightmares became real and filled them as Daleigh's did.

"So are you going to tell me what's up, or do I have to guess?" He asked, sarcasm present as always. She blew out a ring of smoke and raised an eyebrow, not so much encouraging him to keep asking as wondering why he was breaking the comfortable silence with meaningless blather. "You've been weird the last few days."

Then he had noticed.

She shrugged, "So, you've been warped as long as I've known you, don't see me complaining. Cop on."

He made a noise between an insulted groan and a chuckle.

Holding the cigarette between her fingers, she regarded him, cool, rather like someone appraising a work of art.

John was always sure of himself, never thought, always just followed his gut, as lame as it sounded. What he wanted, he went for, and it was this incredible drive that had instantly drawn her to him. Of course that was before she realized that most of it was just his 'rebel-without-a-cause' personality wanting for attention, immature and stupid. Such a thing didn't attract her, and yet the fact that with his immaturity he went along with pretty much anything she physically instigated made up for it. What had started out as using him to quell her inner aggravation and serve as an outlet had turned into pent-up sexual infatuation.

She chocked it up as to being a fifteen-year-old girl and used that as her excuse; that way when the long buried personality decided to show up, she could either blame it on PMS or needing to vent.

"Weirder," he clarified, sitting up once he realized their little intrigue was over. He pouted – actually honest-to-goodness pouted, like some little brat that didn't get what they'd wanted for Christmas. Only Daleigh would ever classify the gesture as a pout, considering any other brainless twit would call it 'brooding masculinity'. Some girls could be such idiots… "Are you going to tell me or pretend, like everything else, that nothing happened?"

God, she hated him right now.

"Nothing happened," she repeated in way of answer. And then she frowned, adding, "We're talking about the same subject then, aye?"

"Knowing you, probably not," he grumbled, hopping off the lawnmower and shaking the creases from his clothes. She hoped he would go for his tried-tested-and-true approach of leaving without a world whenever they finished up, but instead he paused and then stated, voice gruff, "You ignore me completely for more than a week and then decide you want to get some – what were you even ignoring me over, anyhow?"

"Aw," she mocked, once again sensing ice in her blood as annoyance turned into downright anger towards him. "Is ickle Johnny feeling unloved?"

She dropped the fag to the ground, grinding it out with the toe of her cowboy boots. Not waiting for him to respond before striding over and attacking him again, she managed to bowl him over more out of his sheer surprise than actual strength. Outwardly small and weak-looking, Daleigh didn't shy away from playing dirty and it was in most cases this that put other's off-guard.

"Better?"

She heard him hiss as she pulled him down with her, scraping his back on the wheel of the mower, tangling her fingers in his hair as she dominated to brutal kiss. She wanted to tear into him, to cause him pain and screw with his mind.

A laughable image appeared in her mind and almost the same instant there was the sound of the shed door opening and a shocked gasp. "John! Daleigh!"

She could taste blood on his lips when he started in shock, cutting his tongue on her teeth as Storm strode into the tool shack, looking flabbergasted and disappointed. He swore and without a moments notice bodily threw her off of him so that she was on the floor, laughing.

The illusion, of Storm and the light shining inside from the sun disappeared in a worried flurry of colour, leaving the both of them in the dark once again. He was panting, more from shock than from their frantic spit-swapping. She was still laughing.

"What the fuck is with you?" He demanded, not bothering to keep his voice low, no longer caring that they might get caught. It wasn't so much that it was forbidden – neither wanted to be involved that way. Daleigh wasn't John's girlfriend, he wasn't her boyfriend – the ground rules stated that wasn't supposed to happen, that wasn't allowed. Right up there along with things getting weird.

"Keep your alans on, boyo," she sniggered, sitting up so that she could take in his thoroughly freaked out expression. "It's on'y a joke…"

"Jesus Christ!"

She was close enough that she was able to kick him, frowning with annoyance. "Don't be blasphemous."

He sent her an annoyed glance, like he was holding back saying something that would get his arse kicked. Daleigh's faith was important to her; even though she didn't preach and try to be the next Jehovah's Witness in training, she didn't feel she should put up with her friends being disrespectful. Most of all her non-friends, which John was turning out to be more and more.

Git.

He was on his feet in moments, glaring at her and looking like he was going to hit her. She mentally dared him to, that was the type of mood she was in. "Every single one of you is nuts, you know that?"

"Us?"

"Girls. Women. The female species," he snapped, just about spitting at her. "I don't _get_ you."

"And yet you have no qualms about goin' at it with one?" She teased, and then raised an eyebrow. "That ought reassure me some, aye? So, what other girls have you been seeing? Should I start on being the jealous type, then?"

"Don't get any ideas like that," he warned, alluding to both her less-than-veiled insults. "I just had a run-in with your little charity case a few days ago. She's out of her mind, you know."

Daleigh couldn't hold back genuine amazement once she realized who he was talking about. "Are you telling me that you and Ash had a civil conversation?"

He smirked, "No, I'm just saying we were able to exchange information between insults and twitchy glances." He whistled, "I really think she's crazy. Not all there, you know?"

"See, that's what I don't get, you'd think you'd get on better with her then," Daleigh commented.

"Not with her," he grunted, staring off into space. "It's like talking to a wall – only you tend to get more from the wall."

Daleigh frowned at the face he was making; it was preoccupied, rivalling Ash's not-there-ed-ness with his own. It was clear that he was no longer focused on her and that in itself was enough to annoy Daleigh. She knew the mood had been killed a while ago, but had been in denial about it. It didn't matter anymore; she now wanted to be alone, whatever her previous needs had been – the sooner the better.

She changed her tone accordingly, making it accusing and hard, "If you're going to bring up Ash at every turn, why don't you just go find her and ask if she wants to go for a snog then?"

Pyro looked disgusted at the thought. "Screw you."

"Evidently not," she taunted.

After a few choice curses in her direction, he walked out, slamming the door behind him so hard she wondered if the shed itself might cave in. Dirt trickled down all around her, like faerie dust only a lot less magical and doubtless containing spiders.

She sat in silence for the better part of three minutes, just to make sure she was alone and that he hadn't decided to set the place on fire with her inside. Once she was sure she was by herself, she chuckled, a wicked sound coming from her. He'd risen to her bait, in a rather pathetic way, and all according to plan.

Lying back in the dark and soil of the shed, she pulled out another cigarette and held it unlit in her mouth, enjoying the silence and solitude for the moment. It wasn't long before her thoughts began to stray from being idle to the face of the person who had ruined her little tryst with the arrogant flamethrower.

Ash had cropped up in her thoughts quite a few times since she had unceremoniously appeared in Daleigh's world a month before. It wasn't for any other reason than curiosity, for that matter. She and the shy _Québécoise_ were not friends – there was a vast distinction between imposing your presence on someone and them accepting you as a friend (disregarding this being how Daleigh made her relationships work in most cases). And she knew as well as anyone else that Ash was not yet in the state of mind to understand a friendship, much less pursue one.

However despite all this, as she might have expected,her thoughts returned to the particle manipulator. Ash reminded her of her, no qualms about it. Not in any physical or characteristic way, as they were as dissimilar from one another as night and day. Under normal circumstances (if such a thing had ever existed for either of them), Daleigh wouldn't have looked twice at the girl, much less sought her company. But there was that something, the unnameable part of her that made Daleigh have to look twice and study her.

There was some sentiment in her eyes – a lost thought or maybe even long buried emotion that portrayed a soul who had seen too much to ever be or behave like an ordinary teen, whatever rehabilitating measures were taken.

Daleigh knew what she was talking about from experience; she could act and pretend and put up the face of being the normal one, the out of this world jump-start to everyone's day, but in reality she knew she wasn't. Knew that wasn't even close to being the truth.

There were reasons why when people asked where she grew up and what her childhood had been like that she shied away, changing the subject and steering the attention from herself with ease. Grimacing at the ceiling, she reached for the spot on her right upper-arm that sometimes seemed to burn; whether in her mind or because of some latent memory she wasn't sure.

She pictured the brand she knew lay beneath the material of her coat; she could see, right on the back of her closed eyelids, the Celtic twists emblazoned on her skin which no matter how much professor Xavier tried, couldn't help her discover where it had come from. Like so much, it was hidden in an unending gap that she had no access to. There was no reason for it, either, that she could tell.

What she did know was that whatever had happened had occurred after she discovered that she was a mutant. Soon after, in fact. She last remembered being nearly twelve, having decided to run away, ashamed of her abilities, decided to stay in the slums she knew so well –

And then there was nothing.

For no fathomable reason, there was this three year gap of nothing, before she was all of a sudden waking up in a church basement in Oxford.

Sometimes when she stretched her mind for long periods of time, she was able to feel some sense of what was going on. It was never anything that made a difference or gave her any clue to her past. In truth she had only been able to cling to some shred of emotional connection because of Xavier's psychic aid in helping her try to unlock the secret. But nothing more ever came from the endeavour; just emotions and passing feelings that were too jumbled for her to know what they meant.

A part of her told her to leave it alone, but Daleigh _wanted_ to remember and by hell, needed to. Especially because that part of her told her to stop trying; it made it all the more important. There had to be a reason why and she yearned to understand. When she'd first been brought back to the school by Jean Grey more than ten months ago, she had submitted, willing in fact, to Xavier's psychoanalysis sessions, encouraged that he was powerful enough to find out anything that she wanted to know but couldn't remember about herself.

But when he'd told her it was as though she hadn't existed during that three year period of her life, she had soon stopped going to work with him. The sessions themselves were frustrating and mislead her hopes, but nothing clinched it so much as the physical fatigue she'd developed from the constant assault on her mentality. It had made her irritable and more or less sick.

She'd had no choice but to quit.

And this led her to her wondering about Ash; even as she lay there chewing thoughtfully on the end of her cigarette, she knew that the girl was with the professor, being drawn out of her shell, her mind worked on and helped to develop. Some part of her anticipated that if the professor could help the totally lost cause that was the other girl, maybe there was still some hope that she could gain what was lost to her in the jumbled mess of grey matter.

A fleeting sentiment of guilt passed over her, that she was somehow deceiving and using this girl, almost as she was using John. But then the worry disappeared and she was back to her own, somewhat addled state.

She moved to get a kink out of her neck, at the same moment causing some dirt to go down the back of her shirt and swore, jumping up and brushing soil from her hair and trying to get what had fallen down her neck. She was sure she looked much worse for the wear and set about trying to regain some outwardly normal appearance.

Enough time had passed that no one would realize she and John had just been sequestered away in the tool shed and it was her hope that she was normal enough now to hang out with Rahne and Tabby.

Yawning, she made for the exit, poking her hands into her pockets.

She blinked and almost cursed happily.

She'd found the stupid lighter.

* * *

TBC 


	8. Volume One: October 15, 2000

**_Smoke and Mirrors  
by ErtheChilde _**

* * *

_Chapter Eight _

Daleigh blew a ring of smoke into the air, lazily watching as it twisted and then disappeared as though it hadn't existed. Idly placing the cigarette between her lips, she leaned back, hands behind her head, music blaring through the large, retro-style headphones. The pulsing, violent beat blocked out any of the sounds of nature, and despite the picturesque and colourful atmosphere all about the manor, she preferred it this way.

The mid-October sky was cloudless – an earlier effort on Storm's part to allow the sunshine through into her garden beneath. The weather had been getting steadily chillier, especially as time dragged them further into fall and the slow birth of winter. The leaves were beginning to change and as she breathed in, she could almost taste, mixed with the deleterious nicotine, the frost being carried by the wind.

At the moment, she was seething – and, she reflected – the roof of Xavier's institute happened to be one of the best places to sit and seethe. And smoke, as it were.

She liked the simplicity of the roof; while below it seemed like a tricky, copper-slated slant, not many students knew (and by this she meant the few who could fly) that in the middle was a small plateau of warm concrete, ideal for sunbathing, thinking – and smoking, of course. Grinning her teeth back and forth, she rolled the cigarette from one side of her mouth to the other.

Why she was seething had to do with the fact that the professor yet again denied her a danger room session when she was in the most need of it. Honestly, P.E class just was not cutting it anymore, but the stingy old bat wouldn't listen.

He said it was because he had more on his mind of late that he couldn't oversee the sessions and didn't trust her to stay alone. When she would suggest Jean or Scott watching her, he had told her they were busy on errands for him and that Storm's teaching schedule was full.

Daleigh snorted angrily, allowing another vicious spurt of fumes to dissolve into the air.

She resented that the professor didn't trust her enough to face training alone; it wasn't like her first months there where she had turned the entire campus into a danger room session. She liked to hope that she**'**d grown, if even by the smallest increment. Besides, she knew she had been making more headway when it came to the danger room sessions than in the therapy with the professor.

Her own personal talks and psychoanalysis sessions ended months ago, because she had asked for them to end. Daleigh knew that there was more to this decision than just that it had been an exhausting process; she hated the idea of anyone knowing more about her life than she did, and in having Professor Xavier examine her and try to delve in to help find out what had happened, she was giving him access to things that she might, if she knew what they were, want to keep buried anyhow.

Professor Xavier and the instructors were acquainted with the basic details of how she had come to the mansion – and in most cases, even that was surrounded in mystery. Out of the three, Jean Grey probably has as much information as much as the professor did, being his most trusted student and all. Even without that, she had been the one who happened upon Daleigh during a seminar at Oxford. Daleigh remembered perfectly how not standing on any ceremony what so ever, told them her name, her abilities and how she couldn't remember three years of her life.

One of the few things she still remembered, she thought in frustration.

Xavier had accepted her, no questions asked, seemingly lacking any care that the person he was taking in might be something else entirely. And Daleigh simply believed this because of her nightmares, no other reasons. As was already recognized strictly by herself and the professor – she knew nothing of her past. There was just a vague sense of the _something_ when she wasn't herself, when she was her doppelganger.

Professor Xavier had told her immediately when she expressed concerns about this that she was no schizophrenic, that the Doppelganger was just all of her experiences and memories and emotions from those missing three years all rolled into one.

Which begged the question of why Daleigh found herself terrified of this intangible beast.

Growing angry at the silence, she rolled over on her side and stubbed out the cigarette. The restlessness that couldn't be cured in the fresh air had returned and she felt the incessant need to _do_ something. And so, fabricating a set of stairs that led to the girls' dorm windows on the east side, she slipped in through the gap and back into the mansion.

Luckily no one was there and she didn't need to endure a bunch of annoyed shrieks or feigned amazement at her abilities; in fact, the redheaded Siryn was asleep on her bed, a pillow half hiding her head from view, half smothering herself. Daleigh had heard gossip about a vicious sinus infection going around, but she hadn't believed it until she saw it for herself.

The stuffy, old air of the manor encompassed her again once she entered the halls, pulling the headphones down around her neck lest someone call her name and she not hear it; she was, in a serious vein, considering sneaking down to the danger room and inputting a training simulation on her own.

No, she wouldn't do that, because it might just make the professor revoke her privileges as was. She was already pushing it – no other student from her age group had been initiated in the select few students whose powers were allowed to be trained offensively. He had emphasized the reason behind this being that some of the disturbances that the so called _X-men_ went to deal with were more dangerous than school rumours portrayed.

And he had only given her the allowance after a show of her powers had frightened the rest of the the students as a collective. Daleigh didn't know how to describe the feelings that had prompted her to lash out in that way, even though of late they were recurring and with a more terrible force. She wasn't herself these days, frustration reigning at all times with pent up energy that threatened to tear her and anyone else close to her to tiny bits.

Daleigh glared at the floor as she shuffled down the hall, going wherever her feet willed.

She knew why the professor was so hesitant; reading people was a gift and common sense just went hand in hand with it. Xavier hadn't treated her like every other wet-behind-the-ears little brat since that night months ago when she projected one of her nightmares into reality. It had turned the entire first floor into a cliff-side view – some students had gone into conniptions when they thought they were moments from rolling off their beds into the darkness below.

Luckily, no one had realized that the cliff was not the worst part of the dream. While everyone else had worried about where they were, Daleigh had found herself caught in the throes of her own personal crisis – seeing a sea of bloody, dead bodies below the cliff. It had been this that woke her from her slumber, much to the relief of half the student body.

Without really knowing where she was going, she wandered down the stairs and into the rec. room. It was Sunday, which as a rule suggested an abundance of people would be cluttering up the mansion, either outside or crammed into the activities room to squabble amongst each other as to who got to play the pinball machine and whatnot. Today, though, it was blissfully empty – and by empty, she meant there were fewer than six others loping about on the sofas, watching television. No one she really knew intimately, more by sight.

In fact, she could only name two of them – Artie Maddicks, one of the much younger students who although mute, had the gall to get brazen with her. Always sticking his too large and mutated tongue out at her…The other was Jones, a wry and sarcastic preteen who on a number of occasions Daleigh 'commissioned' for odd jobs because of his lack of a need to sleep. Usually those included various pranks against John when he was being an idiot. The rest were students of inconsequence, whom she didn't mind.

She halted for a moment in the cozy sitting room, eyes falling on the television. Every second or two, the channel would change, even though the remote control was lying, discarded, on the floor nearby. Across from the TV, Jones blinked in tandem with the channel changes, on the face of it searching for something to watch but not really waiting to find out if he had or not.

Nature shows, inane cartoons, boring soap operas – Daleigh turned to leave, but something caught her interest. She heard the name, it registered in her mind before she even recognized it.

_' – Jason McMaster – '_

"Go back!" She said all of a sudden, whirling around. Jones appeared surprised at her outburst, in fact having not realized that she had even been standing there. "Go back now!"

Jones, who more often than not questioned whatever she said just to be annoying, sensed the hurried desperation in her voice and quickly blinked the channel back to where it had been before; numb, Daleigh sat and frowned at the screen in concentration.

In the background behind the reporter, a hazy two-way mirror separated the cameras and people watching the show from a sterilized execution chamber within. A man in his mid-fifties was strapped to what was without a doubt an electric chair, eyes glazed over with fearful resignation. The look was one Daleigh realized she recognized – the look of someone who had utterly given up.

"Turn it up," she ordered and Jones at once complied.

_" – the execution of Jason McMaster, an Irish pastor__who, one year ago, pleaded guilty to spearheading what officials have dubbed a 'mutant holocaust'. According to a statement made after his arrest, he was responsible for nearly six hundred mutant deaths – the numbers climbing even now as police continue to discover bodies. A mutant himself, McMaster's fanatical tendencies and abilities are the reason for the string of church burnings throughout Ireland in the early nineties. Long thought to – " _

Daleigh could no longer hear the announcer's words; a dull roar had been birthed from the silence, blocking out everything – sound, thought, sensation – she was only able to gaze into the eyes of the man who was seconds away from being killed. He was staring at the window as though he knew he was being observed, an almost insane smile on his face.

"He didn't do it."

She said it so quiet that for a moment she wondered if she had imagined saying it, the whisper seeming to be no more than that. It was when Jones proceeded to stare up at her, open-mouthed and his eyebrows raised in a manner that suggested he be afraid for her sanity, that she realized she hadn't.

Without staying to watch the news coverage of the execution itself, nor an explanation for the little brat, she was off, walking without direction away from the rec. room with the sensation that her brain had out of the blue become very much addled. It was almost as if a physical wave just pulled through her, shaking loose something that had already been unhinged ages ago.

Why would she say such a thing, she wondered furiously, going over it again. The people on the news said the man _himself_ had pled guilty to causing all the destruction and unrest. Somewhere, imprinted in her mind from the time when she had woken from her three year stupor, was the consciousness of the Jason McMaster case and but without meaning. And yet now, when she had looked at this man's face through the lens of the camera, she had the distinct and determined sense, which refused to leave her mind in peace, that he was not the person who deserved to be up there.

Even worse was the detached, persistent sentiment that she was more directly connected to it than she seemed.

Her feet appeared to be in charge of her flight, because she hadn't even realized they had carried her to the wing of the mansion where the professor's office was located. Before she could consciously move away in an effort to close herself off again, the door opened and one of the younger students strutted out, giving the impression of being perfectly fine and happy now that whatever mundane concerns he had expressed to the professor had been met. Not one to deny the power of fate (although definitely one to tempt it), Daleigh didn't wait for an invitation before she strode through the entrance and slammed it behind her, wincing when it closed with more force than she intended.

The professor was already observing her with a grave face, already acquainted with the predicament but wanting her to tell him all the same. It was his attempt at keeping things personal for people, a way to not be perceived as rude enough to read someone else's thoughts without their articulate permission.

"Daleigh, it's been a while."

"Whatever," Daleigh mumbled, taking a chair and swirling it around so that she was sitting on her haunches; she ignored the unimpressed expression he hid moments later. She knew he wouldn't ask her what was wrong, expecting her to say something instead. For a long time she wondered if she should bother – what she should even start with. She hadn't really wanted to end up talking to the professor about this quandary, but it was actually beginning to scare her.

"Is there something you want to ask me?"

"Damn right, there's something," she muttered, cross, "though you already know what it is." He nodded, implying that he did. "That McMaster bloke – they did it, didn't they – he's been taken out then?" From his appearance, she could tell what the professor's response was. "He didn't do it though – why do I think he didn't do it? He must 'ave – he signed a bloody confession to say that he did it, but something is telling me that as starkers as he was, he didn't have anything to do with any mutant holocaust."

Xavier's entire countenance was grave. "I'm afraid you are mistaken in that respect. Mr. McMaster was witness at several scenes and by quite a few survivors of his purges for burning mutants alive in churches. I'm sure you yourself might have a memory of that, however disassociated it might be."

"I never said I didn't think he did that," Daleigh argued, not allowing time to dredge up past thoughts. "He was crazy enough to do that – but not smart enough. I mean look at him, the man on the telly was completely off his rocker – how could someone like that spearhead a huge covert operation?"

The professor grimaced, although it was not in consideration of what she had just said. Vaguely, delicately, like someone going to drop a particularly hard bomb, he said, "Daleigh, I met James McMaster. I was called in specially to interrogate him the same week Jean was at Oxford and ran into you – I have seen his memories, have seen his past actions – have heard him confess and describe in great detail how he carried out his operations, how he killed and had others kill. There is no doubt, in my mind or any others but yours, that he was guilty."

"That's not good enough!" Daleigh cried, the shout laced with unnatural venom that didn't feel like it was coming from her. At his surprised look, she forced herself to calm down and in a quieter tone, added, "My gut is telling me that something's very wrong – and my gut is usually what keeps me from getting dead!"

The professor exhaled noisily, a show of not only exasperation, but resignation. "I don't know what to tell you."

"Tell me you'll read me again!" She directed. "Maybe you can find something – anything."

Xavier folded his arms, his lips drawn in a firm line that told Daleigh that this wasn't where he had wanted the discussion to go. "You know how I feel about forcing my way into your mind. You were the one to end our sessions for the exact same reason. Apparently something has changed."

"I know," Daleigh retorted. "Something's different now. It's not just feeling like there's someone else…it's something that's telling me things I can and know and then a minute later making them disappear like they never existed!"

"Such as your belief that Jason McMaster is not behind the deaths of hundreds of our kind?" Xavier suggested, sounding weary but firm.

Temporarily, she remained amazed at his perception shouldn't and the seriousness in which he addressed the issue. She didn't wait for him to plough on. "Exact – and with it, there was this – I'm not going to call whatever this is a memory, because I'm remembering absolutely nothin'," Daleigh explained, trying to find the best words to describe the situation and failing miserably. "But it's like a…a shadow of a thought, or something. I really need you to take a look."

Xavier appeared to reflect on this, frowning in deliberation as he weighed his opinion on the matter. After a pause he conceded. "I will try to help you – but don't get your hopes up this time, Daleigh, it might be nothing. And I really am not sure what you are looking for in respect to McMaster."

"What hopes?" She muttered under her breath as she slipped down onto the chair, sitting properly as the man in the wheelchair approached. She sometimes felt a little weird when he focussed solely on her, and not for the usual reason of being afraid someone would read her thoughts. She recognized that hiding anything from the professor was pretty much futile and decided not to dwell on it. If the man had nothing better to do than read the minds of his students than he wasn't deserving of the immense respect people put in him.

Still, she always found herself thinking intently about anything that wasn't related to John.

"I need you to relax," Xavier told her, as usual, holding out his hands and placing his finger tips to her temples. She wondered vaguely if this made him focus harder or if it was just that physical contact increased the chance of connecting mentally to whoever he was trying to analyse.

She inhaled and then let loose, waiting for the blankness to take over.

Daleigh knew that in most cases and from experience, when the professor read someone's mind, they didn't realize he was there unless he wanted them to. However, in a private, one-on-one session in which the professor was focussing on her alone, it was like she and her thoughts no longer existed and her mind was like an open box.

Except the only difference between Daleigh's mind and everyone else's was that the box had a lock not even _the_ Professor Xavier could break.

The blank came up right away – a sensation of complete and total nothingness, even when he tried to focus on the remnant of the thought.

She sensed his frustration, which was only just concealed beneath his intense meditation; she couldn't remark on this for long before an overwhelming wave of exhaustion passed over her, her head twanging reminiscent of a migraine.

A vacant, only just perceptive sensation was there, her thoughts drawn back to that nothingness-gap that she still couldn't break past. The mood of being focussed on with such magnitude and effort was almost as if someone had physically draining the life out of her and with more than the needed presence in her head, she was crowded. Her mind hurt.

The minute she seemed to be in pain, the professor stopped. He was pulling a strange face.

"I'm sorry, Daleigh, there is still nothing," he expressed his regret and sat back in his chair. "I will tell you once again – it is as though someone bodily removed whatever memory existed therein. To the uneducated observer, it's as though you went to sleep twelve years old and awoke at fifteen. And as for any information regarding Mr. McMaster…"

Daleigh didn't bother keeping down the curse that managed to escape, but was glad when Xavier didn't say anything.

"This is bollocks," she grumbled, "I mean, I can not be the only person this has ever happened to, right?"

Xavier looked pensive, wheeling the chair over to the window. He glanced at something outside briefly, before glancing back at her, "Who knows? I am still under the belief that when you want to remember, you will."

"You say that to everyone," Daleigh groaned, standing up and pacing, "I bet it hasn't come true for anyone! And besides, it's not a question of wanting to remember, it has to do with the fact that there's no reason why I shouldn't! I mean, when I woke up there was absolutely no signs of head trauma and I don't have a bloody medical history of a coma or shite like that! What other reason is there that I would forget that much of my life?!"

"Calm down," he implored her, "I know this must be frustrating for you – remember, you do tend to project your emotions…" he smiled kindly, " – but you must find a better outlet than raging at people for no apparent reason. Among other things."

Crap, he did know. _Cree-py_…

"Yeah, well," Daleigh broke off eye-contact, forcing herself to think about how brown the professor's desk was.

Xavier raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate.

She chose not to.

"I am curious though," he continued after a long break in their conversation, "as to why this business with McMaster would cause you to think you remember something, however muddled it may be."

"Maybe I knew him some time in my past?" Daleigh suggested hopefully. "Three years – that's long enough to make someone's acquaintance, don't you think?"

"Yes," the professor admitted, "although if you had met him any time before, it is quite doubtful taking in account his overt hatred for mutants. As far as anyone knows, any mutants he came into contact with ended up dead. That in mind – " he watched her sharply, " – there are no memories in his mind or yours which show that you may have met, making it highly improbable. Unless…"

"Unless?" She repeated, a tentative and suspicious tone marring the question.

"Unless McMaster was suffering from whatever phenomena has erased three years of your life," he finished solemnly, "and if that is the case, as I feel sure it must be, I'm afraid there is nothing else we can do with regard to that particular venue."

"What do you mean?" Daleigh demanded, her hope at recovering some sense of herself because of this new idea dying before it was birthed.

"I mean, that there is no longer a way of finding out, in light of Mr. McMaster's execution," Xavier told her pointedly. "If you want answers, you will have to start searching again in other venues."

She felt her face flush an angry red. "You mean now because of those tossers up Capitol Hill, I'm down another clue?" She groaned at the top of your voice. "This is like the bloody jigsaw puzzle that wouldn't end – how come you didn't do anything? Wasn't there anything in his mind that could have made you stop them?"

"The event in question came up before you came to us, Daleigh," he said, the tone earnest and meaningful. He looked genuinely regretful that he couldn't do anything about the current moment and that his attempt to help one of his students was crumbling before him now. "Had I known, had even the slightest inkling that Mr. McMaster would have been of some use to you, I would have done all in my power to keep him from the death penalty."

She knew he was telling the truth, but still felt irritated and frustrated – a state which was more and more becoming her character of choice. In the end, she decided not to reply, instead, turning and leaving the office irately with a haughty, "I'll miss evening mass at this point." As though that put an end to the matter lock, stock and barrel.

Unlike the previous visitor to the professor's office, she wasn't leaving in a good state of mind.

* * *

TBC 


	9. Volume One: October 20, 2000

**_Smoke and Mirrors  
by ErtheChilde _**

* * *

_Chapter Nine: _

"Bloody hell! I ruined another pair o' shoes!"

Rahne Sinclair was a sight for sore eyes, her red hair messy with dust from digging around the closet; she held up a pair of soft leather loafers which looked as though they had been set through a shredder. Daleigh recognized the damage from numerous other occasions when Rahne's canine self had attacked her own things. She still wouldn't forgive Rahne or Sam Guthrie for the pillow incident.

Across the room, painting her finger-nails with white-out, Tabitha Smith burst out laughing. "Looks like part of you has a guilty conscience – you hid them away on yourself!"

As the buxom blonde sniggered, Rahne angrily tossed the shoes into the trash-bin by the door and stalked over to her bed, pacing rather like an aggravated wolf. In the meantime, Tabitha sobered up, her face every part serious as she asked, "Doesn't it hurt to digest leather?"

"Oh, you!" Rahne snapped, throwing one of her pillows at Tabitha; the shot went wide, missing herby a good few feet before slamming headlong into Rahne's bureau, almost shattering the mirror close by. "Shite!"

"Serves you right," Tabitha stuck her tongue out.

Daleigh shook her head at the two of them, for once not joining in their fun even though she very much wanted to.

She was restless; bored as had become a common theme for her of late. She'd been stuck behind the walls of Xavier's school for near a week now, wanting to neither sneak out nor stay in. Usually she jumped at the chance, but ever since that week where she had been nothing but a cold, self-serving bitch she hadn't wanted out, something that confused her. She loved the outdoors and when forced by others to remain inside, became so affected by cabin fever that she would get sick.

The mere thought of being ill was enough to move her, to make her want to leave.

"Are there any shows tonight?" She asked after a moment's deliberation, directing her question to Tabitha.

The blonde frowned, obviously considering the question. Tabby had been Daleigh's first friend at the institute – technically. She'd met both her and Rahne on the same day, but it had been Tabby that had actually gone out of her way and imposed her friendship on her. Within her first week there she had dragged Daleigh to what would be the first among many concerts and wild parties, successfully _socializing_ her. In Daleigh's mind, Tabby was her closest friend, a sentiment that was understood but not quite respected by their fellow students.

Tabitha was wild; a party girl who boasted that she'd try anything once and usually followed through with that. She was known for being popular with the boys, most of the time playing her two favourites, Sam Guthrie and Roberto DeCosta, against each other for her attentions and had a mischievous, wicked humour that had attracted Daleigh to her rather quickly. She was more often than not an accomplice in the harmless pranks Tabby fired against Bobby Drake.

"Nah, I don't think so," Tabby remarked. "Why?"

"Bored."

"You're always bored," Rahne interjected, returning to her closet once again. She had a frown on her face that suggested she was expecting to find more articles of clothing that she might have chewed up during times when she reverted to her wolfish form. Rahne's lycanthropy was a source of great fascination in Daleigh as well as a source of amusement from her peers when she acted in a particularly doglike manner.

"More so today," Daleigh replied. She gazed back out the window, eyes roaming past the forest and imaging the boardwalks and civilization on the other end. "Let's go out."

"Knew that was coming," Rahne groaned. "And you're nae going to be ersed about the fact that it's Monday night and two hours 'til curfew, huh? What could we possibly do for only two hours?"

"Who said anything about two hours?" Daleigh grinned, effectively pooh-poohing Rahne's attempt at being the more level-headed and responsible of the group. "Curfew don't exist in my vocabulary, you lot know that. Come on, let's get ready and go out. Have us a night on the town; booze, sex, rock an' roll, the lot of it!"

Both girls knew better thanto argue with her once she set her mind to something and in the big scheme, Daleigh doubted if they even meant to. Tabitha was probably as restless as Daleigh was intent to get out of the mansion and Rahne only ever put up a façade of disagreeing with Daleigh's out-of-this-world plots for the sake of claiming to be the voice of reason when they inevitably got in trouble. That being said, it didn't take long before all three of them were shuffling around the room that Rahne and Tabitha shared with Amara and another girl, looking for clothes to wear out in the streets. Luckily both other girls were still downstairs in the common room.

Daleigh herself made a few trips back to her own room down the hall, which, like Ash, she didn't share with anyone. Xavier had allowed her this given her extenuating circumstances of her nightmares' tendency to come to life. He didn't want her disturbing the other students as had already happened a few times.

Just as she was slipping back to her friends on her third trip, clutching a tube of lip-gloss, she paused, noticing the aforementioned introvert hidden in the shadows. The silent girl was curled up in a windowsill; her face was puckered in a frown of concentration on yet another heavy tome in front of her

The idea hadn't even fully formed in her mind before she ducked into their dorm, barely noticing her friends dressed up for town life. "Let's take Ash."

They stared at her like she was mental.

"Let's not," Tabitha replied; Rahne merely shrugged noncommittally. Daleigh sent them a questioning gaze. "Look, I know you like her for some reason, but that girl's creepy – and she probably wouldn't enjoy going to a rock 'n roll party or doing anything that makes her have to leave those giant books of hers."

"Your head's a marley," Daleigh challenged. "For all we know, she could love a good scream-fest." Both her friends sent her disbelieving glares. "Okay, okay, you're right, she's probably never been – but that's just another excuse to drag her along! Come on, Tabby, you did it to me and I turned out fine!"

Rahne snorted, "That's a matter of opinion."

"Don't make me hurt you," Daleigh warned, more of a joke than anything. "Come on, she can be our pet project for the night. Besides, maybe it'll be enough to scare the twitchiness out of her."

Her friends exchanged glances and Daleigh could see the ghost of a smirk on Rahne's face. She took this to mean that her proposition had been accepted and wasted no time in whirling round and leaving the room, hurrying down the hallway.

When Ash heard the noise she glanced up and Daleigh couldn't help but momentarily relish in the face of horror on the girl's face, as well as the practiced attempt to pull her book closer into her chest. It had become almost tradition for them to fight over whatever text the younger girl had in her possession when it came to Daleigh demanding her attention.

"You can take 'at with you for all I care," Daleigh told her right away, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her towards Rahne's room. "But it'll probably be worse for you, havin' to lug it about."

She ignored the terrified squeak as she hauled Ash around the corner and into the wolf-girl's room; slamming the door behind her once she was sure everyone was in. Rahne and Tabby were already changed, donning their whore-couture (as Tabby was wont to call it) and makeup. Ash stopped completely, her mouth gaping in awe at the other girls, confirming Daleigh's suspicions that the French-Canadian was a lot farther behind in the teenaged-social-life department than she'd originally thought.

The sight of girls in rather bohemian garments, fishnets and leather included, was apparently a new experience for her. Both of them paused when they realized that they were being watched, Daleigh could sense they were in turn appraising her.

After the moment passed, Ash turned to her, eyes wide, the question in them obvious.

"We're going out," Daleigh informed, not beating around the bush. "You're coming. So much if we have to pack you into a burlap sack." She paused. "You can't shift through solid objects, right?" Ash had the appearance of one stricken with paralysis. "Figured – arm the burlap sack!"

The girl made a strangled noise.

Tabby snorted. "Yeah, that's a look of excitement if I ever saw one."

"She's on'y joking," Rahne told her, trying to sound reassuring but too busy holding back a laugh to succeed. "We dinnae have any sacks aboot here either way."

"Dry up," Daleigh said crossly, trying to smooth her expression down to a gentler and kinder version for Ash's sake. "Don't be chicken; we're just going out for some fun. You've never gone anywhere since you got here, not even on weekend breaks – if you go with us this time, I promise I won't bug you about it ever again." She crossed her fingers behind her back and added silently in her head, 'For a week.'

Ash appeared doubtful, but it was obvious the promise of being left alone in part was tempting. "Why…why do you want me to come?"

"Because I'm bored, you're boring and we all want to fix that," Daleigh explained impatiently. "Come on – let's get you into something a little less – "

Ash pulled away, backing into the door defensively. "I-I'll come with you…but don't, I'll – don't try to dress me up, I don't want to…look like that."

"Like what?" Rahne was insulted.

Ash picked up on this and at once adopted an apologetic face. "I didn't mean – that, I meant, I don't want to…I don't like people looking at me," she finished lamely.

Rahne and Tabby stared at her as though she really was crazy while Daleigh felt some type of understanding in that respect. "Fine. I guess you look, er, grungy enough. Whatever, it's your call."

"Even though she's just going to attract _more_ attention to herself," Tabby murmured under her breath. Daleigh and Rahne sent her a piercing glance which Ashlynn missed.

It wasn't long before Daleigh, Tabitha and Rahne were finished with their clothing and had gathered together some money. Ash remained silent all the while, sitting on one of the beds and watching the three older girls with the air of someone awed. It finally came to the moment of needing to escape from the second floor room without drawing the attention of anyone. Walking out the front door was far from a possible escape. At first they had tried to convince Ash to use her powers to float them onto the grounds below but she still seemed to be reluctant to even admit she had any special abilities.

The task ended up falling to Daleigh, who conjured up the fleetingly corporal form of a ladder and got them down – her concentration broke while she was more than halfway along, which resulted in her falling a good few feet.

"Feck," she grumbled, rubbing her backside as Tabitha and Rahne sniggered. Ash appeared unsure, before leaning forward and offering her hand. Daleigh took it without comment and stood, shaking out the kinks in her back. "Last time I bloody-well make it a ladder instead of stairs…I can fall down stairs less painfully than that!"

Her friends laughed and she thought she saw the beginnings of a smile on Ash's face, but might have been mistaken.

Without another word the four of them stole across the courtyard; Tabitha and Rahne with practiced ease, while Daleigh busied herself with making sure Ash didn't tip them off. She wasn't the only one to notice the girl lacked a certain…poise.

They were halfway along the driveway and within plain sight of the gate, when they were caught by Storm.

"And where are we going ladies?" Their teacher, appearing from the mansion's garage, asked pointedly, hands on her hips. She glanced at what they were wearing with an air of knowing perfectly well what they were doing.

"Uh…going into town?" Daleigh attempted after a moment, all the while trying think ofa plausible story that she had not yet used. There were so many occasions when she had had to come up with something off the top of her head, but this time nothing came to her. She mentally cursed herself for not creating an illusion of them not being there. Why hadn't it occurred to her?

"A – a book…" Everyone turned to Ash, who sent doubting glances at the others as though waiting for them to help her out, and then stared back to Storm anxiously. "Uh, P-professor Xavier, he n-needed me to pick up one, a-at the antique b-book store downtown…"

Storm's eyes had raised, filled with scepticism and surprise. "Really?"

Ash nodded quickly, doe-eyed and jittery. "George Orwell, _Nineteen-Eighty-Four_…i-it's a first edition that he has a fr-friend holding onto."

Storm opened her mouth to say something, before a strange glint passed over her eyes. Daleigh recognized that one from experience – the professor was talking to her. With an only just perceptible nod, she sighed and said, "Alright. But hurry. I want you four back before curfew – that's in an hour."

With a chorus of 'yes's, the girls disappeared.

Daleigh knew Storm knew they had no intention of being back before curfew.

"Nice save," Tabitha said, impressed with Ash for the first time. The timid girl glanced back at her, still a little shell-shocked.

"Th-the professor did ask me to get a book," she mumbled, her attention on her feet. "He wanted me to get out more."

The three girls exchanged disgusted glances.

(-)

At this point, Daleigh was seconds away from bursting out into hysterical laughter, but was holding in for Ash's sake. Tabitha and Rahne had already succumbed to a fit of mad giggles, which was why Daleigh was hesitant to even acknowledge the youngest girl.

When she did, she had to bite her lip.

Ash was seized up, appearing traumatized the way she had since the Lunachicks show ended. The power punk band, Daleigh's current favourite, had been playing at a small underground venue that evening – the girls had had enough trouble dragging Ash into the bar before the music started playing. When the hard as nails voice and vicious tones had exploded onto the scene, Daleigh was stunned that the girl hadn't disintegrated on the spot.

The entire night had been a surprise, Daleigh considered as the four girls walked through a virtually abandoned street. The first shock, which she was still getting over, was the fact that Ash had agreed to come with them. And then there had been Ash getting them out of trouble with Storm…and the ear piercing incident.

She flashed a grin at the new silver loops strung through the other girl's earlobes; they had only convinced her to get one pair, despite the fact she healed fast enough that the earrings were barely a thought anymore. Tabby and Rahne had taken the words 'pet project' to heart and even when they couldn't make Ash change into less basket-case clothing, they had managed to drag her into a piercing parlour and convince her to get her ears pierced.

She still wasn't sure how they'd managed that…but she could now see that the concert had been the last straw. Even though Ash seemed to have a good time before the concert, now she seemed like she had been attacked by some form of animal.

"Maybe hardcore rock wasn't the most brilliant idea so soon," Daleigh attempted after a moment, her laughter subsiding as she tried to remain concerned. "Probably best left for next time…"

"N-no, I l-liked it," Ash stammered, peering at Daleigh from beneath long lashes. They both knew she was lying.

A loud, high-pitched whistle interrupted the interchange.

The girls turned around just in time to see a red 1979 Mercedes Benz convertible pull up next to them, a group of three boys leering suggestively. Almost straight away, Daleigh watched Tabitha turn into the sultry and promiscuous siren she became around boys and Rahne jutted out her chin.

The guys weren't even somewhat attractive, Daleigh decided after a closer study of all of them, even though she easily slipped into the flirtatious mannerisms she perfected for nights such as these. Next to her, Ash shrank back a little.

"Stay easy," Daleigh whispered to her, putting a calming hand on the other girl's tense shoulder, "Have some fun."

Ash shook her head, scanning about for some escape and in fact, finding it. She pointed to the bookstore nearby and without a word, disappeared inside of it. Daleigh rolled her eyes, her patience with the shy girl little by little ebbing away. This was becoming a hassle and she was starting to understand John's dislike of her.

"What've we got here, a group of sexy ladies," the ring leader, a gangster-wannabe with a lip-ring grinned up. "What're a bunch of hotties like you guys doing in a spot like this? It's dangerous around this place at night."

"That's the lamest pick-up line I've ever heard," Tabitha cooed, voice a wicked drawl. She leaned over the door of the car, smirking, "So what'd you guys do, steal this ride?"

"Maybe," one of the guys sitting in the back said, his eyes inviting them to squeal in the delight at the nearest opportune moment. Daleigh would have laughed at the very thought. "Wanna ride?"

"Mmm, maybe," Tabitha murmured, coy, stroking the red finish of the car and glancing back to Daleigh. "What do you think, Dale? Can we spare a few minutes of our valuable time?"

Daleigh pretended to consider, but her answer was cut off before she had the chance to even fathom a witty comeback.

The shriek was enough to jolt the grinning fools in the car, and Daleigh on impulse, even had she not heard where it came from, knew that it was Ash. Without stopping to speak to Tabitha and Rahne she hurried into the bookshop and up the stairs to the main pocket of the store.

What she found there was so unexpected, for a instant she could only stare.

Ash was backed up against the wall nearest the counter, staring in absolute shock and horror at a tiny black cat. The animal itself had it's head cocked to one side as though to ask what was wrong with the crazed girl that was cowering away from it.

"Uh…Ash? What's up?" The girl didn't reply, although her face underwent a series of expressions, none of which Daleigh was able to interpret. The cashier, a New Agey woman, was watching Ash with the apprehension of one who expected a bomb to go off. "You're not the superstitious type, are you?"

The cat finally moved away, evidentially bored with the spectacle that was Ash. Only when it had slinked off again did Ash move, meeting Daleigh's eyes, almost ashamed. "N-no…it's just…uh, _les __chats_. I…really don't like them."

She didn't go on. Daleigh didn't pursue the matter, instead storing it at the back of her mind for a later date. She had a feeling that this was a story she would want to hear in the future. The cashier seemed like she believed they were insane. Daleigh grinned as she imagined what the woman would think if she knew the truth about them.

She looked around the place, noticing almost right away that it wasn't the generic type of book shop. Antique was right, Daleigh thought as she glanced around, ignoring the sinister objects and somewhat occult undertones of the shop. "Is this the place Professor X wanted you to come to?"

Ash didn't answer straight away, checking first to see where the cat might have gone, and then nodded.

Daleigh whistled. "Bit dodgy, this."

The cashier, upon hearing mention of the professor was suddenly gazing at them with a new gleaming interest. "You're here for the book then?"

Ash's thankfulness that she hadn't needed to speak was apparent to Daleigh, who watched the girl just stand there as the cashier went to get the needed book. Bored, she waited around to see if Tabitha and Rahne had followed, frowning when she realized they hadn't. They were almost certainly still flirting with the guys – more interesting than seeing what else Ash was going into conniptions over.

Yawning, she entertained the thought of leaving the Québécoise to her own business, but decided that would be too cruel and settled for perusing the unusual books which adorned the shelves around her. Titles that weren't spelled in proper English jumped up at her, as well as one or two in Gaelic. She smiled grimly to herself; speaking Gaelic was like a nervous tick to Daleigh, reading it was no different.

She paused in front of one particular book, covered in Celtic knots and the like; she pulled it off the shelf and frowned at the cover design. An embossed Celtic peacock; identical to the brand on her right arm.

A quiver ran up her spine, not unlike a sudden shock of cold.

_'Fallacy. You'll not cross me again.' _

And it was gone.

Whatever had just happened, the disjointed feeling and her sudden intense concentration on the design was gone and she was brought back to the musty shop, listening as the cashier asked Ash to convey her thanks to the professor and inviting her to browse.

Fallacy – what was 'fallacy'? A name? Maybe it was just someone saying something or referring to something – but she was sure it was a name. The way it had been said left no question that it had been a name – and yet, she was still doubtful.

Daleigh's head swam with questions and she put a hand to her temple, as though she had a headache.

"Hey, Ash, I'm not in the mood to hang around here," she said lamely, not really waiting for Ash to respond considering the likelihood of that was lower than her having a conversation with John. "I'll meet you downstairs with Tabby and Rahne."

She disappeared down the stairs again, just in time to see Tabby suggestively poke the guy driving the car. Everyone laughed and then there were cheers from the bowsies when Daleigh returned. She ignored them, instead addressing herself to Tabitha, "We should get home."

Tabitha knew right away that there was something wrong, based on her tone and the fact that Daleigh had never been the one to imply they go home.

"Come on, it's still early out," one of the nameless idiots cried mournfully. "Let's go for a ride."

"Sorry, fellahs, she's right," Tabitha apologized, although not sounding it. Daleigh heard footsteps on the stairs inside and expected Ash to come out moments later. "Time to go."

"At least give us your phone numbers," the ring leader begged, jumping out of the car and grinning with obvious interest.

Ash was instantly beside them, clutching to her a bag that had to contain more than the book she had gone in for. Why was Daleigh not surprised?

"Sorry, b'ys," Rahne replied, a frown etched into her facial expression now. "No's no."

The guy lost all pretence of being nice. "Get in the car."

"Is your hearing bad or something?" Tabitha snorted, turning away. "Come on, girls, let's – "

Ash squeaked as the guy all of a sudden grabbed her and clutched her close to him.

"Get in the car, or we'll knife her," the one with the hat growled, still smiling like an idiot but with intent in his eyes. Ash was frozen, staring down at the steal blade which was pressed into her side, not hard enough to cause harm but with enough to leave no question as to the purpose of the boys.

Tabitha, Rahne and Daleigh remained frozen, eyes on Ash. After a moment, Daleigh exchanged glances with her friends as well, and then nodded meaningfully at Ash. The younger girl made the barest of motions to disagree, but the one holding her tightened his grip.

"You don't think I'll do it?" He snarled.

"Naw, I don't," Tabitha spoke up.

"Yeah, probably just a load of tripe," Daleigh rejoined, smirking confidently even though her head was far from in this interchange. Next to them, Rahne nodded with a grin.

It was clear the guys were not used to such confidence for girls.

"One more time," the brute holding onto Ash snarled. "Get in the car with us, or I'll – "

Screwing up her face as though in meditation, the girls watched Ash suddenly push into the knife; the steal went clean through her. There was no blood.

The guy holding her cursed and pushed her away, not bothering with her once she fell to the street. Almost immediately, Rahne had transformed into her wolf self and was snarling ferociously at the guy, who had fallen to his hands and knees in surprise. He screamed and jumped up, throwing himself against the door of the car. Inside it, his cronies were crying out in fear.

Without bothering to glance around in case, Daleigh sneered, eyes glinting angrily that the guy had thought he could screw around with her girls and get away with it. Pulling up as much energy from within herself, she fashioned the air around her to appear as though there were multiples of Rahne; ravenous wolves which threw themselves at the car, making dents in the metal.

The ring leader recovered himself and was in the car as fast as he could manage, barely noticing the deep rents in his shirt where Rahne had pawed with long claws. The car was already pulling away. Tabitha grunted in effort as she formed a ball of concussion energy and lobbed it at the tires of the car, which burst spectacularly.

The guys were instantly out of it and running as fast as they could to get away. The girls stood together quietly, watching the scene play out before them as the illusions disappeared. Daleigh then turned to Ash with a smile, "Now, don't tell me that wasn't fun."

The girl didn't reply right away, before silently intoning, "We're going to get in trouble.

* * *

TBC 


	10. Volume One: October 22, 2000

**_Smoke and Mirrors  
by ErtheChilde _**

* * *

_Chapter Ten: _

_The swimming sensation enveloped her on all sides, a vague sense of being but without the actual existence involved. She couldn't see anyone or make out anything in particular, but was aware of an overwhelming influx of sentiments. Emotions and vibrations seemed more intense to her, where she was blind she could feel. _

_It was familiar, whatever it was. _

_She was warm, was aware of the comforting tenderness that seemed to smother her, but pleasantly. She gulped, a lump in her throat. She had never experienced so much love, directed at her, no less. _

_It was gone as soon as she felt it, replaced with a fear and pain, emotional hurt that nearly shattered the reverie of nothingness around her. She was scared; she wanted the security back, could think of nothing else but wanting that. _

_The tiny voice of a child was speaking to her, but she couldn't make out the words. _

_At that exact moment, terrified screams rushed up, attacking her from all sides, the splitting pain making her scream herself._

She was still screaming when she opened her eyes, locking them with the steady gaze of the professor.

Her entire frame went rigid, even though she was reclining comfortably on her back, it felt like she was being held together by thousands of little tiny threads lined with glass. Suspended above her, the professor's face gradually relaxed from the deep focus he had been giving off and blinked, smiling encouragingly down at her.

Her heart was still beating like she had run a marathon and she could still remember the fear's strength.

"You must not force yourself, Ashlynn," he cautioned, leaning back in his wheelchair, his shoulders losing their uptight edge. "You will be able to do it when you are ready and not a second before."

She took this to mean that their session was over and hesitantly sat up, bit by bit returning to the world of the present. She was lying in his office on the plush leather couch during one of their biweekly psychotherapy sessions, recovering from yet another attempt to focus and improve her focus on her powers. Like every attempt so far, after too much meditation, she was pulled back to that same memory, that same place in the past that existed in her greatest fears.

She knew the professor had seen it all, that he probably knew more about her and her past than she cared to admit – but she took this to mean that he would understand more readily why it was so hard for her to go back, so hard to want to be a mutant.

"You know, contrary to your belief, you are not the only person who has hurt someone in the development of your powers," he told her earnestly as she swung her legs around and rested her feet against the floor. "A good many of your own friends have inadvertently caused pain to innocent people. But it's not their fault – no one knows when their gifts will emerge. It is as uncertain as knowing what your abilities will be. You cannot prepare for them and can not be held accountable for what you did when they appeared. The sooner you realize that you are not guilty, the sooner you can attempt to understand your powers."

"No one else was born wit' dis, were dey?" She asked, her voice almost bitter. It was easier to bite out the words than to remain timid. "_Ils ont tous_…dey all developed it and 'ad a normal life before it happened. I never did, I was always this…freak."

"I never want to hear you say that about yourself again," Professor Xavier informed her with a firmness that made her stare at him in shock, "Those are your father's words, not yours, however long ago you heard them."

"Not just 'is," she murmured, looking away again, her thoughts falling back on her experiences with John, Tabitha and Rahne.

"Don't set much in store by the words of others," he told her lightly, wheeling over and setting himself in front of her. "As long as you yourself know that what they say about you is untrue, that's all that matters." He chuckled softly. "Besides, you know as well as I do that he is just looking for attention."

She felt the barest of tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Xavier put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "That concludes today's session. You are making progress, whatever you may think. I believe even your social ability is growing somewhat." She nodded and stood to go. "One moment, Ashlynn."

He wheeled himself over to his desk and picked up something, a smile on his face as he passed them to her. "I would like you to give this file to Jean when you go for your session with her. And this is a little something for you."

A manila folder and a paperback entitled _The Once and Future King_ by T. H. White.

She hungrily accepted both, and left the office.

The professor was one of the only people that appreciated her need to immerse herself in hardbacks. Her lack of social life had helped her cultivate her semi-eidetic memory, which explained her genius like marks in school. It wasn't that she actually understood anything, it was only that she could regurgitate facts back at an alarming rate. Her need to devour books and information was merely an attempt to retain information.

People passing her by took no notice of her; it had become a common sight to see her running from the professor's office with a new volume firmly in her grasp. Two months had made her a fixture that everyone recognized and knew not the bother. Although she recognized she was behind the development that the professor wanted her to have made during her stay, Ashlynn still felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.

Before coming to the school, she would never have ventured about with some kind of spring in her step, nor would she have ever volunteered answers to questions or agreed to illegal sneaking-out with girls her age.

She shuddered; that experience was still extremely fresh in her mind, it having happened a mere two days before.

She wasn't close to opening up to anyone, would never be as cavalier as Daleigh was or as popular and well-liked as Bobby, but in truth, she didn't really aspire to such. She still wanted to be left alone – and yet she recognized she had grown enough to be able interact with others in a way that it wouldn't be forced. Well, _too_ forced, in any event.

The elevator trek from the main school to the basement areas underneath was like stepping into a whole other world. She hadn't asked, but she had heard in passing and explored parts of the mansion enough to make out the basics of the place she was living in or at least had an idea of how not to get lost in the vast house.

The top floors were ostensibly the liveable areas, where traditional old wood and antique carpeting ruled. At ground level it looked as any other manor school might look – furnished parlour, the dining room (which she had discovered was used whenever someone had a birthday, just as a way of promoting a more familiar feel), patio (tailored all over by Storm's plants), sitting room, rec. room, day rooms, kitchen and library. All of these, with the exception of the dining room and rec. room, were used in the daily school (the kitchen being where home economics was taught), filled with sturdy desks and chairs which catered to the need of the students. Finally, there was Professor Xavier's office, which was open on an almost twenty-four hour basis.

The topmost floor of the manor was dedicated mostly to the domestic living of the students; the women's dormitories were located in the west wing, while the men's was in the east. Both wings had rooms that were used as study halls for the morning and afternoon classes, and just above the grand staircase was an extensive reading area (which Ashlynn avoided at all costs because there was _always_ someone around).

The basement was as normal as anyone might expect, albeit huge. She was the only one of the students, she was sure, who ever went down there, and that was because the storage rooms were located there. This was not just where the school kept the books that had been used as teaching aids over the years, but a private collection of Professor Xavier's, with tomes that were too valuable to be left in the library where they might be vandalized, rested. Other than that there was a storage room for old and damaged furniture, a wine cellar to which no one had the key (and which was somehow protected in a way that sneaky mutants powers didn't work) and the main laundry room (which was more a flirt box than anything else).

That was where the similarities to a normal school ended; below the impressive structure that she called home was a pristine and almost sterile world of white walls and plastic floors that she hadn't dared to explore. Especially not after Professor Xavier had insisted the sublevels were off-limits to the general student population unless they were in need of medical care or undergoing supervised physical therapy. Devoid of any touch of human life, Ashlynn had at first been terrified of stepping below the mansion. It had taken a few of her electrolysis sessions to get over this fear, but she still felt like she was violating some kind of law by being down there.

Dr. Jean Grey was in her lab, frowning over a microscope at the other end when Ashlynnlynn came in. The girl almost didn't want to disturb the doctor, wondering if skipping an electrolysis session was really such a problem, when she remembered that she still had to give Dr. Grey the folder.

"Well that's considerate of you," the redheaded woman looked up, beaming invitingly to her. Ashlynn blushed, embarrassed as she recalled Dr. Grey had some gifts with telepathy. The woman stood, her previous work forgotten as she approached Ashlynn. The younger girl gave her the folder readily, barely noticing the scowl of deliberation that lit on her features as she studied it before it floated out of her hands and over to the table. Almost immediately, it was forgotten as Dr. Grey gazed at her. "Shall we?"

Ashlynn nodded and pressed the key lock behind her, effectively closing the portal door to the lab. As Dr. Grey moved to get the electro-chamber ready, Ashlynn stripped down to her undergarments; Dr. Grey had explained that it reduced the amount of unneeded static, but Ashlynn was not yet comfortable enough with anyone to divest completely. She even had to take out the tiny silver hoops, the earrings that Daleigh and the girls convinced her to get the week before. Out of everything that had happened that night, these were her favourite. For some reason, they made her feel like she was at least trying to fit in a little more.

When she finished, Dr. Grey motioned for her to remove her form inducer, which she did, inhaling deeply to retain her focus as she lifted herself onto the cot.

The metal was cold on her bare skin and she could feel goosebumps rising up her legs and arms; the see-through chamber she was being unhurriedly pushed into brightened.

"Alright, get ready, I'm going to turn on the electro-magnetic pulse," Dr. Grey told her, already standing next to the scanner, her fingers on the switch. "I need you to relax."

Ashlynn didn't need her to tell her. She had done this every week for almost nine weeks, dutifully carrying out the therapy program that professor Xavier had constructed for her. She almost didn't notice the discomfort and burning pain as she was slowly electrified, a living current flowing through her. She gritted her teeth together, trying to focus on being somewhere else. She felt heavy, pain in vicious throes – arching upward she held back a scream.

As soon as the onslaught had begun, it was over, and Ashlynn was lying prone on the cold steel. She blinked, seeing the crinkling of electric beams passing over her, her entire body twitching in angry spasms.

Dr. Grey put a hand on her bare shoulder, making Ashlynn jump at the sudden human contact. "Are you alright?"

She always asked the same question. Ashlynn never answered.

Instead, she stood up, hurrying to put her clothes on again. A jolt, like static shock ran through her when she moved away from the table, but this was usual for when she finished her sessions. Before grabbing her clothing, she paused, staring down at her hand.

She wasn't focussing on keeping her molecules together; the contingent electricity that had been pumped through her entire system kept her together. The pain faded.

Ashlynn waited for Dr. Grey to come over and hold the tiny remote-control shaped device before her, testing for her mass density.

She was reassured by a grin. "Levels are normal. I think this time you won't need to put the inducer back on for at least twenty-four hours. Unless of course you're uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping without it. It's your decision to take the step."

Ashlynn murmured, "I'll keep dat in mind."

Dr. Grey smiled softly and returned to her work. Ashlynn couldn't help but feel grateful, grateful that Dr. Grey could read minds and knew not to ask her more. Grateful that there was some respite from the disjointed sensation that was her all the time.

She slipped the form inducer into her pocket and paused for a moment, pausingas though she should say something else. Dr. Grey was already leaning over the folder Ashlynn had handed her, frowning studiously about the information.

"Thank you."

The redheaded woman looked up, startled that Ashlynn had voluntarily broken the silence. After a moment, she beamed at the girl. "You're very welcome."

(-)

Steam rose up, clinging to her skin. The warm spray of the water dripped down all around her, surrounding her in a pleasant spray. She could almost hear the crackle of static electricity as the droplets of water connected with her still current-filled body. It didn't harm her, merely prolonging the static effect.

She smiled unconsciously, holding up her fingers to the shower nozzle and watching as the water bounced against her skin. Her wrist, curiously free of the bulky form inducer, appeared smaller and more frail than usual.

Ashlynn sighed, the silence around her blissful. The washrooms were empty of the rest of the girls, something she deliberately waited for every night. The other teenaged girls tended to bathe hours before curfew, all clamouring to get the showers and take the hot water before it was gone. What none of them seemed to understand was that the water was hot again hours later and there was no point to fight over it.

Not that Ashlynn minded, the privacy something that she valued above most things.

She rinsed the last of the soap suds from her body and turned off the nozzles, her ears perking up at the sudden onslaught of silent. Once she was positive that she was entirely alone, she stepped out of the shower and encircled the towel around herself.

Her entire form was bedraggled, and she reached towards the nearest mirror to swiped the condensation from it. Her own wide-eyed expression reflected back, pale and tired.

She barely ever glanced at her reflection and now that she was, she remembered why. Whenever she saw herself, she saw her mother, a gaunt and skinnier version of the healthy woman she could remember from her childhood. The thought itself usually inspired a dull twinge of pain in her chest, which was why she suppressed it.

This instance being no different, she turned away and gathered her pyjamas. She scowled when she realized that the condensation had thoroughly soaked through her clothes; she hadn't guessed that she had been in the showers for so long.

The notion of putting on the wet clothing again just to get to her room wasn't appealing, but neither was walking down the hallway in a towel. She had seen Tabitha Smith do it and smirk at the boys who sometimes hung out with their girlfriends, gaping at her in awe. Ashlynn wasn't that comfortable with herself, least of all with others. Yet the thought of discomfort remained.

Ashlynn attributed it to the daring mood she was in since her positive electrolysis session. Poking her head out of the bathroom, she waited a few moments, listening intently in case the hint of anyone in the area presented itself. When after thirty seconds there was still nothing, she ducked out of the bathroom and sprinted towards her room, her heart racing at the sheer daring she herself was taking part in.

She reached the room without any trouble and barricaded herself within, her breathing laboured. She was amazed that she had just done that. Tossing her still damp garments to the floor, instead of putting them away in her usual neat manner, she moved towards the closet with the intention of finding something else, when she stopped.

Slowly turning around, Ashlynn's entire frame seized up as she realized she was not alone. Her fingers clenched at the towel wrapped around her body.

In the usually empty corner of her room which served as her study area, a makeshift cot had been set up. This was not the most pressing matter that Ashlynn's attention focused on. It was the person sitting on the bed that scared her out of her wits.

Merely out of the shock of seeing someone in her room when she had supposed to being alone, Ashlynn felt herself shatter, converging her into a thick, whizzing mass of molecular smoke. The personage on the bed gasped, eyes widening as Ashlynn's smoking form camouflaged with the ceiling.

The other girl was obviously startled, but instead of the fear Ashlynn felt, the expression on her face conveyed mere amazement, awe – and possibly admiration.

It was this which brought Ashlynn back to her corporal form, sitting on her bed and holding her towel tightly. She stared, taking in the appearance of the other girl. She was older than her, barely by a year, Ashlynn could tell, with wide almond eyes and long brown hair that was covered by a deep green travelling cloak. It seemed like she had gotten there moments before Ashlynn and had been in the process of getting settled.

For a series of minutes that clicked by on the digital clock on Ashlynn's bedside table, the two stared into one another's eyes, neither taking the initiative to speak.

When Ashlynn finally understood that the girl wasn't leaving, she jumped off of the bed and ran from the room.

This time she was not so lucky as to have an empty hallway, yet she didn't care. Her mind was a blank even as she slammed the bathroom door behind her and pressed her back against it, squinting her eyes together in an effort to stopper it with her weight.

Outside she could hear hoots and cries of appreciation from two boys who had seen her run by, and the whisperings. The embarrassment caught up with her and she pressed her heated cheeks against her knees. Why had she even done that? It was her own fault that she was in this predicament – but why was there someone in her room?

Jubilee had said that in emergency's people were added to rooms, but when she had asked the professor he had said that he would tell her if such a thing would happen. Maybe it was only a real emergency –

Ashlynn shook her head, unable to rationalize any of it. A part of her wondered if she was being selfish, indulging in her dislike of people when it might not matter. But the more she thought about the possibility of sharing the room scared her.

There was a loud knock and she could feel pressure as someone tried to get in. "Ash?" She inwardly groaned to hear Daleigh's voice. "Are you in there?"

She didn't reply, hoping that the other girl would go away.

"I know you're there even if you're not talking to me – I'm not going anywhere," she heard the loud declaration. Ashlynn steeled herself, trying to pretend she couldn't hear anything. "Look, Smoke, if you don't move and let me in I'll get Kitty to phase me – or I'll blow the wall up and you can give the blokes out here another little show."

Ashlynn scrambled out of the way just as Daleigh burst in and shut the door behind her. The Irish girl was already dressed in her night clothes, her arms folded at her with a sharp expression on her face. A wry smirk, like she was dealing with a situation no one else wanted to.

When she thought about it, Ashlynn supposed this was probably true.

"What is it this time?" Daleigh asked, walking over and sitting down on one of the bathroom counters. "Did Tabitha burst a paper bag behind you again?"

Ashlynn sent her an unimpressed glance and then mumbled a quiet 'no' under her breath, pulling her towel closer around her. The cold tiles were reaching through the flimsy cloth material to her skin.

"Than what is it?"

"Someone's in my room," Ashlynn told her after a moment of trying to word it in a way that it didn't sound pathetic and failing miserably.

A look of dawning comprehension appeared on Daleigh's face, and she smiled gently, "That's right! I'd heard there was a new mutant here. I heard from Kitty that she came in with some guy with knives built into his 'ands. The professor's getting' a bed ready for her in Jubes' room, but tonight they needed to put her somewhere else. Guess that means with you." She made a face. "What's so bad about that?"

"I-I didn't know anyone was dere, and I – no one told me," Ashlynn lowered her gaze. "If I had known, I'd have just stayed in 'ere."

Daleigh raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it again. Instead, she shook her head and sighed, peering sharply at Ashlynn. "Just a question, mate…what exactly is it about people that scares you so much?"

For once in her life, Ashlynn found herself practically stumped.

The logical answer was far from possible to use now; back then, it had been that no one understood her. Here at Xavier's institute, it was impossible that she use that excuse. She was surrounded by people like her, people who were probably going through nearly the same changes.

But these were people that knew nothing about her beyond how she appeared and what she conveyed through her body language. And they themselves were lying for the most part; while she didn't take part in groups or play about or even talk to others, she listened and knew when people were being truthful and when they were lying.

People were deceiving and from her experience, self-serving. They loomed, horrible creatures that judged and hurt. At any sign of difference, they pounced.

But then again, there were also the few that meant well.

She glanced at Daleigh while she thought this, wondering what the other girl's story was. Daleigh had never told her anything about herself. Despite her constant attempts to include her and try to help her adjust to school, Ashlynn felt the void of one who was not all they seemed.

Her pseudo-relationship with John was enough proof of that.

"I don't understand dem," she said at last, the answer presenting itself as though the most obvious conclusion in the world.

Daleigh hadn't expected this.

"You don't like them because you don't understand them?" She repeated disbelievingly. Ashlynn nodded, waiting for her to berate her for her stupidity. "Well _that_ makes sense at least."

Ashlynn was beyond surprised.

Daleigh chuckled and hopped down from the counter, sitting with Ash. "If that was the problem, you should 'ave said something. I get annoyed when I don't understand things. It's a pet-peeve. Nothin' to get all 'avoidy' about." It was the closest Ash had ever gotten to hearing about anything from Daleigh's perspective, and she knew not to ruin it. She waited for the girl to go on. "What don't you understand?"

She didn't know how to put it into words, or to break it down completely into the individual details. "Dere's so much."

"Well, give me an example," the ginger-haired girl said jovially, pleased with herself now that she had discovered what it was that made Ashlynn tick. Ashlynn wasn't sure if she should continue or clam up, just to keep the playing field even. Instead, she went for another venue.

"Like…like I don't understand why t-two people who 'ate each other and argue and almost fight physically…how can dey…uh – "she trailed off, staring at Daleigh in concentration as she tried to think up the right words but unable to bring them to her lips. " – I saw, a while ago, you – you and John were – "

A look of dawning comprehension appeared on Daleigh's face and Ashlynn thought that she saw a light blush alight the pixyish girl's features. "_Oh_." She cleared her throat. "_That_. Well, er – " Daleigh smiled at her uncomfortably. "That, my friend, is one thing even I can't explain. See, John is…well, he's – "

"He's mean," Ashlynn mumbled bluntly.

"Well, yeah," Daleigh allowed, "but sometimes that makes for better, uh…" Now the other girl was completely red in the face, stumbling over her words as she tried to explain something to Ashlynn. Evidently, it wasn't working. Daleigh noticed this and stopped trying, clearing her throat and adopting a cross expression. "Whatever, it has nothing to do with your problems understanding people. That's something you're going to have to work on. You can't run away from people for the rest of your life and sprout tripe like 'I don't understand 'em'. Maybe if ye made a bit of an effort, things might work out for the best."

Ashlynn made a face, trying to show that she really didn't identify with what Daleigh was telling her.

"Look – that girl is probably as freaked out as you are right now," Daleigh told her. "Probably more, considering I bet you went to pieces on her when you saw she was there – get your arse back there and apologize or at least try to socialize."

Stricken, Ashlynn tried to shake her head vehemently, but Daleigh narrowed her eyes at her.

"If you don't, I'll illusion up a few cats," she said seriously, already scrunching up her eyes and tensing, a stance Ashlynn recognized as the one which she adopted moments before bringing up a new illusion. The air had even started to move in the wavy, mirage-like fashion which suggested the impending illusion.

Ashlynn fled the room once again.

---End Part One---

* * *

TBC 


	11. Volume Two: October 23, 2000 Part One

**_Smoke and Mirrors  
by ErtheChilde _**

_Author's Note: _From this point on, the point-of-view will remain split between Daleigh, Pyro and Ash just for the sake of less confusion and more substance. I would also like to take this point to remind everyone that the X-Men movie franchise is not mine and that I am no way affiliated with Marvel.

* * *

_---Volume Two---_

_Chapter Eleven: _

The girl's name was Rogue.

At least, it was this name that she gave to Ashlynn the next morning when the introverted Québécoise finally screwed up enough latent courage to apologize to her for being so rude the night before. By then, the other girl appeared to have caught on to Ashlynn's personality well enough not to force her to say anything else.

"Ahm Rogue.**"**

It was plain, simple, and spoken with an audible Mississippi accent that somehow seemed to fit the girl to a tee. Ashlynn hadn't studied her temporary roommate upon their first meeting, far too nervous to be caught sizing her up from beneath her thick brown duvet. Yet this morning, as she sat on her bed with her knees pulled to her chest, watching the stranger fish a brush out of her faded green duffle bag and casually drag it through her hair, Ashlynn couldn't help but study her.

Long dark russet hair, her frame was small, skinny, and her small brown eyes gleamed with a hunger of some sort that wouldn't go away. Her full lips and pale skin made her appear almost skeletal, and there was an atmosphere about her of one who hadn't lived a very easy life for a long time. It was a sentiment Ashlynn ascribed to with such ease that it startled her.

"I'm Ashlynn."

Although the two words were nothing but what she repeated to other people, it struck them both what an effort it had been to say it, especially without a stutter or worry that the other girl would think any less of her. Ashlynn immediately caught on to the desperation the other girl had for contact, a connection, even if it was with a timid and anti-social girl like her. In conjunction, Rogue seemed to sense the huge step it was for Ashlynn to accept her so easily.

Daleigh's words chimed over and over in her head, guiding her on.

She tried to smile, but all that came of it was a slightly softer and less strained expression. Averting her gaze for a moment, she glanced down at the faded bag; it seemed to contain only ratty clothing and a few personal objects, an indication that Rogue had been on the road for a while. Ashlynn knew it herself and felt a sudden kinship to this girl.

"Dere's…if you want…uh, to borrow s-somet'ing, euh, _les __vêtements_ – to wear, I mean – you can," she managed after a long minute of mentally preparing herself. Rogue appeared confused, and so she nodded her head towards the dresser next to her bed. "Clo'es."

"Oh – oh, no, it's alraght," the newcomer said quickly, motioning to her own things and not meeting Ashlynn's gaze. "Ah have mah things, ah don't need – "

"_C'est _alright," Ashlynn managed to get out, somehow able to make her tone more forceful and firm. "I don't mind._ Bien_, I don't 'ave a lot, but…but I dink you're, I guess – you must be tired of what you…"

"No, really, Ah – "

The southerner noticed the expression on Ashlynn's face; although flustered and filled with effort to keep the stutter out of her conversation, there was a dogged, almost stubborn note hidden beneath the layers of discomfort. The message was clear, whether it was voice or not, in a way that would have impressed and surprised even her greatest critics.

Rogue didn't need to be told twice; something about living out of a duffle was enough to almost destroy the conventional limits of being polite, and Ashlynn knew this. The other girl was instantly at the dresser, putting on a show of being hesitant in her search, but all the while sifting through the things. Ashlynn felt the same uneasiness at having a stranger go through her clothing as she would have it were Daleigh, but tried to keep reminding herself that she was trying to be open.

Her entire body was tensed as she watched the other girl finally take one of the simplest and plainest things from drawer, a green sweater and jeans, and thanking Ashlynn profusely, return to the other side of the room.

Boundaries back in place.

"So…so can you…do that just by thinking it?"

It was Rogue who broke the wary silence, referring to Ashlynn's display of disintegration. Oddly enough, Ashlynn didn't resent her at all or feel any pressuring demands on her part to answer. The girl was watching at her with an awed expression, eyes portraying someone who wished to know, who needed knowledge almost the same way that Ashlynn always did. It was endearing, in the littlest of ways.

"_Parfois_," she told her, fiddling with her toes self-consciously. She was surprised that she had even had the gall to respond to the question. "When I'm scared. Or surprised. Or upset." She thought back to the first time she had used her abilities in the school. "Or really angry." She looked up. "I don't usually – I mean, I don't like to. Sometimes…sometimes it 'urts people."

The way Rogue was gazing at her right now was almost scary; wide-eyed, understanding. She was clutching the green sweater to herself brutally, her fingers shaking. Ashlynn noticed right away that the girl was wearing heavy black gloves despite being inside. Curious, she weighed the question before asking. She remembered her anger at John when he had pried at her to answer, but couldn't help wondering.

"Wh-what can you do?"

Rogue didn't reactstraightaway, glancing down at her gloved fingers momentarily, before up again, smiling hesitantly in a way that didn't reach her eyes. "Ah sometahms hurt people too."

And it was as simple as that.

Ashlynn didn't know how it had happened or why it had happened so quickly; but somehow, she felt the bond between her and this girl, Rogue. It was something that had never existed between her and anyone else. Bobby and his gang were too free with one another, careless and carefree. Daleigh and John were too complicated or too distant for her to be able to identify with or even understand.

But Rogue was different. Because somehow, Rogue was her.

(-)

Daleigh was the first to notice Ash appear in the room with the new girl in tow; she was also the first to notice the strange, unfamiliar confidence in the shy girl's walk as she timidly pointed out certain places. It didn't seem as though she was speaking, and yet the girl with her nodded whenever she pointed, making Daleigh wonder if she really was talking.

She was stunned, to say the least.

When the two arrived, she was even more stunned when Ash all of a sudden blurted out, "Dis is Rogue."

The newcomer shyly raised a hand in salutation; still, the gesture was nowhere near as guarded as when Ash did it. Next to her, Rahne nodded in greeting, while Tabitha asked out loud where Rogue was from, considering her with a grim smile. Unlike Ash, Rogue didn't need much egging on before she started talking; the way she carried herself was of a shy person, and yet Daleigh could see it in her eyes that this was far from who she was. Something had turned her into that and she was dying to get out of it.

All through her little introduction Rogue didn't mention to anyone what it was that she could do, Daleigh observed as she nibbled on her thumb nail. And there was no John around to egg her on about it. It made her think about something Bobby had once said to her – that John was one of those people that could make a nun swear.

The thought actually made her chuckle out loud, earning an odd look from Rogue but not so much as a glance from the others, who were accustomed to her peculiar behaviour. Oh well, the new girl would learn soon enough. If Ash could get it down, it would be easy to teach this Rogue person what was what.

"…and Tabby can probably blow you up in your sleep," Rahne was saying when Daleigh zoned back into the conversation. Rogue appeared a little panicked, but it turned into a hesitant smile when Tabitha retaliated,

"Oh yeah? Says the one who's working up a leather-addiction as we speak. And we just got you housetrained…"

"Shut up!"

There were a few chuckles all around and even Ash was behaving a little more light-hearted than usual. She also seemed to enjoy the fact that with Rogue around, the attention that was usually paid to her and her attempts to not glean any was diverted to the other girl. It was a rather ingenious buffer, Daleigh thought with a smirk. It seemed the timid girl was more devious than she had previously given her credit for.

"I take it Ash here's given you the grand tour then?" She broke in, deciding it was high time she put her two-cents worth in. Rogue's gaze shifted to her and she nodded. "Dead bodies and all?"

"Yeah, everywhere except the boys' dorms," Rogue told her, her tone a tentative joking kind. "And she said that the basement is where the medical facilities are."

"You mean Ash said all that?" Tabitha interjected, scrutinizing the girl in question with a teasing gaze. "I'm amazed – she probably said more to you in one day than she has to all of us in the two months she's been here. Is that your power? To get people to open up?"

Ash blushed and focused on her feet. Daleigh didn't need Professor Xavier's powers of psychic navigation to see the shame on the other girl's face at the difference between herself and Rogue. Tabitha wasn't the most cautious of people and her patience for Ash, as Daleigh had learned long ago, was practically nonexistent. "Dry up, Tabby – at least people don't ever have to tell her to shut her gob."

Tabitha blinked at her in surprise, and the grinned, adding a mocking, "Aye-aye, me wee Irish lass."

Daleigh narrowed her eyes at the horrendous imitation of her. "You wouldn't be callin' me short now, would you?"

Tabitha didn't respond, sticking out her tongue instead. If there were anything else to come of that, it was lost moments later when out of nowhere, Jubilee appeared, tapping Rogue on the shoulder. The southerner jumped so readily it was as though someone had electrocuted her; she jerked away from the other girl violently, whirling around as though about to say something but keeping it to herself.

Raising her eyebrows at her, as though remembering what it had been like to give Ash her tour of the place, she finally managed to bite out, "The professor sent me to tell you you're room's ready. You're rooming with us, so I'm going to show you there and then I have to take you to see him. Okay?"

"Uh, okay…" Rogue flashed a nervous grin at Ash, "So, Ah'll see you later then? You're still going to show me where all the classes are, rahght?"

Ash nodded and Rogue smiled, gesturing good-bye to the others before following the flamboyantly dressed Jubilee back out of the room. The minute she was gone, Tabitha rounded on Ash.

"Look who's suddenly social," Tabitha sniggered. "What, did something defy all scientific odds and clobber you over the head or something?"

Ash shrugged, not meeting the blonde's gaze. She seemed to have lost her confidence now that she was once again the center of attention without Rogue to play the buffer.

"Has anyone heard about what her deal is?" Tabitha asked when it became apparent that Ash wouldn't be answering her. "And did you see the avoidance move there? _Issues_."

"You want to hear issues?" Rahne interjected, sitting lotus-style on the end of the couch, a share-all smile on her face. "I heard she came in with this guy that has knives which come out of his hands – he's still unconscious down in the medical wing."

"Does anyone know what happened to them?" Daleigh inquired, a frown of curiosity on her face. Next to her, Ash perked up without warning, an unreadable expression on her face.

"No clue," Tabitha shrugged. She grinned abruptly, full lips puckered into a devilish and conspiratorial smile. "Ten bucks whatever her power is she probably knocked the other guy out – I mean, why else would he still be unconscious after – "

_CRASH! _

The three girls were not the only ones in the common room to whirl around as Ash unexpectedly staggered, knocking over a nearby lamp. While the others cheered and called attention to it, Daleigh noticed the pained way in which the shy girl held her hand to her forehead. There was a stricken expression on her face, something that reminded her of anguish, before it was gone. Ash peered up, her gaze barely meeting Daleigh's as she mumbled an apology. "_Désolé_…I-I'm not feeling well…I think I 'ave to…go lie down…"

"You alright?" Daleigh called after her, but the girl was gone so quickly it was as though she had whizzed out in molecular form.

"What a spaz," Tabitha said under her breath, rolling her eyes heavenward. "She's always freaking out over something."

Daleigh's focus didn't leave the spot where the younger girl had just been. "I think it might actually be _something _this time."

"Well if it was, it's someone else's problem," Tabitha shrugged. "The last time we got involved with her, we got stuck on probation, or don't you remember?"

"Don't I," Daleigh groaned, remembering that it was because of that event the professor had decided to delay her danger room sessions until she had 'had time to think about her actions'. Now that she was putting it all together, she realized that it was probably the mission to go get Rogue and her nameless companion which the professor had barred her from. "Old codger…"

Tabitha yawned and stretched, before suggesting, "Let's do something fun – Sam's on his morning run, let's go watch him."

Rahne snorted. "I thought for a moment you might suggest we join him."

"Well you can, but I have this thing about sweating – yeah, we're not good friends – besides, what happens if I run into De Costa?"

Daleigh allowed her friend's playful bickering to wash over her, still staring at the spot where Ash had been. A part of her was a little bit worried – she had seen Ash go to pieces on numerous occasions, but nothing really physically damaging. She had came across somewhat like she was about to have a seizure.

Her eyes fell upon John, who was sitting in a corner doing a steady job of ignoring the Kleinstock twins.

And from nowhere, the situation with Ash was pushed to the back of her mind.

(-)

Pyro chewed his tongue thoughtfully, playing with his lighter and pretending he couldn't see Sven and Harlan in front of him, bickering with each other, trying to figure out which one of them was more bored. In all honesty, he figured he could top both of them.

He had seen the new girl, just like everyone else had, but unlike the other faceless morons, at the moment, he wasn't interested. There would always be new kids at some point or another.

His eyes were on DB, who appeared somewhat perplexed. She didn't give the impression that she was listening to her friends any longer, instead focused on where both Ashes and the new girl had just disappeared to. There was a pensive expression on her face, as though something had just occurred to her.

And then she was staring at him, their gazes locking.

It didn't take more than a minute for things to click.

"Hey," he broke the connection between himself and DB, instead glaring at the twins before him. They peered at him, surprised that he was finally answering them. "Get out of here. You're pissing me off."

"What crawled up your ass and died?" Sven asked with a grumble, although the tone in Pyro's voice had been enough to tell both twins he was serious.

"Whatever it was, it reeks," Harlan added, sticking out his tongue and disappearing with his brother.

Pyro ignored the weak insults, instead peeking back at DB, who was talking to her friends again. Her body language suggested that she was agitated. He smirked and turned to leave, heading towards the hidden alcove beneath the stairs. He imagined that he was pulling off the suave, casual exit – but of course, the place that was his mind did tend to flatter him a little, especially in the respect where it ignored the fact that he had nearly tripped over the coffee table near the door.

He was already sequestered away in the alcove under the stairs when DB appeared, a little distracted but herself all the same. Or as 'herself' as she was these days. The expression on her face, though, was enough to let him know that this was not one of her preferred visits.

"I've got a question for you," she told him, without beating around the bush or getting comfortable. She just stood in place, half inside the hidden room, half outside of it. Pyro shrugged, pretending he hadn't lead her over here just for the sake of giving in to his hormones and flicked a flame from his lighter, tossing it up and down, and then rolling it along his knuckles as one might a silver dollar.

"What do you think about the McMaster case?"

He paused in the middle of his play-cool moment and raised an eyebrow. "You're asking me this, why?"

"Because you're one of the only people I know that actually reads the newspaper from back to front," she replied concisely, although her eyes said different. He made a face, but knew better than to tell her to leave him alone. The waif-like girl before him had the tendency to pester one into submission when she was in pursuit of any type of knowledge. "Well?"

"Tell you the truth, I really could care less," he shrugged, "but I figure you're not going to let that slide – so I guess it's cool that they got rid of another jealous mutant hater."

DB rolled her eyes. "Yeah, because that right there's a mature standpoint."

"What do you want me to say?" Pyro asked guardedly, "or is this another one of those stupid 'is capital punishment wrong' debates you want to get into? Because seriously, I didn't come here for a debate."

"No this isn't a debate on capital punishment and – " she paused for a moment, her face drawn. For a second, the resigned and determined expression was replaced by polite confusion, " – wait, what'd you come here for?"

He gave her a look.

Confusion turned to irritation. "You're a pig."

"I'm a guy," he reminded her, just as evenly, hoping she'd just leave the same way she usually did when he annoyed her.

"Well stop being a guy for a minute and pretend your brain's located in your head and not your gooter, alright?" She ordered, eyes gleaming. She jutted her chin out, challenging. "Did ye not find anything odd about the guy?"

Pyro sighed in resignation, giving up, "No."

She took this in, her expression suggesting it was just as she thought. After a further pause she announced, "He's innocent."

Now it was his turn to regard her with incredulity. "Huh?"

"What, you got cotton in your ears? I said – "

"I know what you said, I'm just trying to figure out why," he interrupted. "The guy confessed – didn't even put up any defence or anything, just straight out said that he'd done it. How is that innocent?"

"I never meant he was 'innocent' innocent, I meant…well, he didn't do that whole _mutant holocaust_ thing," DB explained to him. "He did everything else, the…the church burnings and stuff, but not what he was killed for. Someone did something to him to make him think that, made him remember things he didn't…" she trailed off, now looking like she was caught somewhere in her own mind.

"And you know this how?"

This time she remained silent, even a little doubtful.

Pyro, all of a sudden, felt more than a little uncomfortable with DB. He had never heard her like this, her voice becoming uncertain and frail. Usually there was no evidence of the fact that she was more than what she projected to people, but now there was the definitive proof that all was not calm beneath the surface. "This have to do with that burn of yours?"

He had never seen her shocked before; surprised, yes, hastily indifferent, yes – shocked? No, this was a new thing for him. Her eyes widened in disbelief, mouth parting as though she wanted to speak, but the words couldn't break past the threshold of her lips. It was enough for Pyro to know that he was right, which he felt with certain pride. DB never betrayed any of her own feelings; her illusionist powers helping her hide them from herself even. The fact that he had said this and broken past the glass temporarily was interesting.

"I've seen it once or twice," he told her when it was obvious she wasn't going to say anything. Wasn't or couldn't, he wasn't sure. "At first I thought you were into…I dunno, _that_ kind of thing." She promptly whacked him, eyes livid as though she was about to walk out on him. "Ow! But I figured it was something else."

She glared at him, moody; he had a pretty good idea that it had to do with him knowing more about her than she wanted him to. He'd known her long enough to understand some of her pet peeves, if not others. Most of them were rather superficial, but it wasn't as though he could claim perfection. As much as he liked to try…

"So what is it, exactly?" He asked after a second. "What's it mean?"

She snorted, glaring him up and down as she hurriedly put her usual face back on. "Like I'd tell you? You have enough on your mind without me adding to it."

And she stalked off, the entire argument now of the past and therefore irrelevant.

"Might want to look into it if you don't know," he called after her mockingly, a fleeting amusement coming from the angered tensing of her shoulders as she disappeared towards the kitchen.

Pyro clenched his fists in irritation, wanting more than anything to jump her from behind and beat her into a pulp – especially when her heard her muttering insults to him as she disappeared. He really, really hated how dismissive she could be of him – not that he was any better, but it was the principle of the thing. The one fault (among many) that Daleigh Woulfe had was that she was constantly running hot and cold.

Made him wonder, all the more, why he put up with her.

* * *

TBC 


	12. Volume Two: October 23, 2000 Part Two

**_Smoke and Mirrors  
by ErtheChilde _**

* * *

_Chapter Twelve: _

"The Roman Empire," Storm announced in answer to what their next topic would be; Pyro yawned rather loudly, leaning back in his chair. He wondered what had possessed him to take both Post-Classical and Ancient History in the same term. And then he recalled that the alternative was chemistry, something he had never been good at since his penchant for blowing things up usually got him in trouble. He wasn't foolish enough to choose creative writing – that was all he needed, for DB to find out and mock him. Furthermore if it reached the other guys ears –

Pyro liked to pretend that he didn't care what people thought of him; and yet, the one thing about masculine pride was that it refused to allow him to feel like a sissy around the guys. If they discovered he had a proclivity to the written word, he couldn't see himself living it down. He remembered full well how people had talked when they learned Pete was an artist – of course, no one ever made fun of him because Pete was huge. But Pyro was scrawny – knew he was scrawny – and also knew that no amount of third degree burning could do much about wagging tongues. Not to mention the probable suspension and possible incarceration that might result there from.

And so a double-whammy of history it was for him.

"…it persecuted and ostracised the Christians. And then, almost overnight, the religion rose to become almost dominant. Does anyone know what suddenly caused the Christians to become accepted?"

He heard anxious whisperings behind him where Jubilee, Kitty Pryde and the new girl sat. He could picture Jubilee squirming in glee as she threw her hand up, could practically hear her jumping up and down on her chair. He was sure the girl had some kind of ADHD, but whenever he said that one or all of the people around him glared and DB would hit him.

Beside him, said DB snored softly. Storm looked around the room for a moment, just to make sure Jubilee wasn't the only one with an answer. "Jubilee?"

"The emperor became a Christian?"

Storm nodded, a vague smile on her face at the idea that at least one of her students was paying attention, "Exactly right – Emperor Constantine and his ruling class, all converted…"

Pyro rolled his eyes. It occurred to him that the lesson at the moment was almost an exact parallel of their situation. Except he highly doubted the rest of the world would suddenly elect to become mutants just for the sake of peace and some great empire. Besides, a part of him liked the fact that mutants were a kind of class within themselves. The more people that had powers, the more it cheapened it for him, he decided peevishly.

Behind him, the whispers began again and rather than paying attention to Storm, he listened to Kitty, who was directing her question to the new girl, "Hey, you know that guy you came in with? Does he really have steal claws that come out of his hands?"

Jubilee added, "What kind of mutation is that?"

Steal claws? Pyro raised an eyebrow; if the girl thought that was cool, it was evident that she had never seen fire-play at work. Keeping his eyes on Storm and moving little by little, he slipped out his lighter, pulled his arms around in back and popped the Zippo open, allowing a ball of flame to levitate within his hands.

He heard the girl's surprised and awed gasp and grinned to himself. Cake.

Beside him, DB started, gradually waking, while Storm went on with the lesson. He grinned to himself, picturing the flaming ball in his hands, licking out at his skin without burning it at all. He considered making it bigger, maybe even jokingly reaching it out towards her in an effort to give her a scare. And then he felt a chill creeping from his hands all the way through his body as he sensed the flame quenched with unexpected speed.

It was the ice making contact with his palm that made him drop the orb, just in time to glance around and see Bobby lean back innocently. The sound of the once flaming ball, now ice, shattering upon the hardwood floor disturbed the entire class.

'Fuck.'

"John!" Storm turned around, an expression of dire irritation on her face. "What did I tell you?"

"…sorry," he managed lamely, not knowing what else to say. Next to him, DB glowered with the air of someone who knew precisely what was going on and didn't like it. He pretended that she was just annoyed at having been woken from her short nap, ignoring her. He hated when she got like this.

He then heard Bobby hesitantly ask the girls name, unable to mask his curiosity. Pyro smirked to himself, glad that he at least knew one thing the iceman didn't. He'd listened to DB talking about the stranger the day before, calling her Rogue. What kind of a name that was, he didn't know, but _determined_ it was in all probability one of those pseudo-goth handles. Kind of like Ravensong or Darkstarre (these names not being of his own latent creative ideas but from a rerun of some weird teenage soap opera he had glimpsed earlier that morning). She was most likely trying to be dramatic.

It occurred to him a moment too late that he was actually paying attention to the newcomer, and almost swore. Why was it that every basket case seemed to appeal to him? It had nothing to do with scope of imagination, he knew – he could come up with character sketches of a rock if he put his mind to it – nor did it have anything to do with genuine attachment.

They were just more interesting than he felt, he figured.

Either way, Bobby had upstaged him. Not much of a surprise and in the wider spectrum he didn't actually care; the girl in question was unimportant – it was the fact that once again, Bobby had made the grade and he didn't that had resentment swirling beneath the manufactured calm that was St. John Allerdyce.

He was poked viciously by DB and realized that everyone was packing up to leave; Storm was announcing a quiz on the morrow. He ignored the expression on the young Irish girl's face which meant she had something to say and sauntered out of the classroom, winking at the new girl as he disappeared.

She glanced away almost immediately, once again fixing her gaze on Bobby and Pyro grinned to himself. Match-point. Satisfied with his minor note of success, he didn't notice DB's muttering under her breath nor much else until he collided head-on with something solid and rather painful.

(-)

The headache had refused to subside all morning, ever since Ashlynn left Daleigh's group. It was accompanied by the feeling of someone calling her name; she knew it wasn't the professor's voice. Worse still, she had the diehard feeling that it was Ollie's voice – and yet she knew better than anyone how impossible that could be.

For some reason, the mention of Rogue's friend Logan still being asleep in the medical bay had brought up the memory, however far away she had kept it, of the youngest of her older brothers. Sick and bedridden the summer before their last, telling her a joke that Gabriel had told him. He hadn't been able to tell it as well, but she had still laughed. Back when laughter hadn't aggravated her _condition_.

How old had she been then?

She must have been little over three, because it had happened after he jabbed her with the pencil – accidentally, of course. He had been running with it and had tripped over her, pushing the pencil into the spot just behind her left ear. Everyone had been amazed he hadn't caused more damage than just a lasting scar. It was the only mark she had on her body, considering it had been there before her powers had truly manifested.

Or maybe they had already and it was because of this the pencil wound had not been as grave as she thought?

She then shook her head viciously. It didn't matter; she knew better than anyone how there was no hope in the matter. Olivier was gone, just like all the others – Christophe, Gabriel, her parents. Why she should suddenly let her thoughts fall upon his memory was jarring and she didn't like it.

A part of her considered going to Professor Xavier about it, but at the same time, she was doubtful. This in itself was strange, bearing in mind how she usually felt completely comforted by the man.

She had tried to lie down in her room, if only for a few minutes, to try to sleep the voice away. When this hadn't work, she had furiously gone to work on the essay which Storm had set for her ethics class the day before. She might as well get a jump on it while she could –

Nothing.

She couldn't even concentrate on work – and this being a major problem for her, not used to such a thing, Ashlynn decided to flee her room. It was almost as though she hoped the phenomena would stay back there and not haunt her.

The books the professor had given her the day before were long since finished and she wondered if he might not have others? Whether he had them or not, she would check the library. She needed to go in that direction anyhow – Storm had requested she swing by her Post-Classical class that morning for something.

Now that she thought about it, Rogue had told her she had that class – so she would metaphorically be killing a whole flock of birds with one stone.

The halls were full of other students, nothing out of the ordinary.

There was sufficient amount about that no one bothered her, but by now she was used to this and had shed some of her diffidence over the months. She supposed it was the end of the first classes of the morning – hers didn't begin for another hour, unless she counted study hall.

'_Il faut que je voie le professeur_,' she thought, her brow creased in annoyance at the presence that wouldn't leave her thoughts.

Even as she walked, she couldn't rid herself of the incessant feeling. It was some invisible ache that wouldn't go away. The voice in her head wouldn't stop crying out her name, to the point where it sounded like a weak begging.

In fact, she was so lost in her own deliberations, that she didn't realize until it was too late that she had crashed into a very solid body.

John recovered from the collision before she did, already glaring down at her wrathfully like she had down it on purpose, getting ready to yell at her. Wincing, as she knew from experience what was to come, she averted her gaze and mumbled a rather squeaky, _"__désolé__"_ before ducking around the irate teen, barely sending a glance of recognition in Daleigh's direction. Ashlynn had learned that the best way to deal with John was to avoid him – and if she couldn't do that, not to make eye-contact and hurry past

She still didn't understand what she'd done to offend him.

The first day of school seemed to have passed so long ago that a grudge was silly, and yet it appeared she could do no right in his eyes and he wanted to keep it that way. Even Daleigh had given up trying to make him behave civilly towards her when they happened to be in the same place.

She made her way to the front of the emptying room just in time to see Rogue, who was chatting nervously with Bobby over something.

Ashlynn noticed right away the interest on the iceman's face, the type that a lot of the boys happened to get every now and then. She didn't think she'd ever seen it on him though – from Rogue's expression, the girl was flattered and somewhat kerflummoxed by the attentions.

Ashlynn decided not to interrupt whatever was going on and approached Storm, as she bid goodbye to one of the older students. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the teacher to notice her, and when she did, managed a faltering, "You wanted to see me?"

"Oh, yes," Storm nodded, reaching around her desk for a collection of papers. "The professor wanted to give these to you. It's about the GED requirements."

Her heart leapt for the moment, the awful headache and unease leaving her. Homework had become a kind of sanctuary since it allowed her to put off whatever problems and oddities life decided to throw at her and concentrate on the problem at hand. Storm, along with the professor, had told her that her grades were easily the best in school and that if she wanted to skip ahead to the senior class they would allow her.

Late in September, Ashlynn herself had suggested taking it to the next level – by asking if she could work towards completing her GED early so as not to have to attend school anymore. Xavier hadn't much approved of it in the beginning, as he'd been hoping she might reconcile herself to the idea of leading a normal life but as far as Ashlynn was concerned, it was normal.

He had finally given in when he recognized how set she was on it – a rare thing in her – but had insisted that after her completion of the diploma that she take on the college level courses which were offered at the institute

She thanked Storm, taking the still warm Xeroxed pages, and then followed her to the back of the room where Rogue was still sitting even after Bobby left. Storm smiled in the same welcoming fashion that Ashlynn remembered from her first day. "The lesson wasn't _too_ painful, I hope."

"…No," Rogue faltered after a moment, gathering the few items she had borrowed from Ash for class. She gave the impression that she was wrestling with something on her mind and finally forced out a shy, "How's Logan? Is he okay?"

The only thing Ash knew about Rogue's friend was that he had been giving her a lift from Lotham City, somewhere in Alberta, when they were attacked. By what, even Rogue didn't know, but it had been sufficient to put a significant amount of fear in her voice whenever she mentioned Logan. Apparently he had been injured gravely.

"He's fine. He's…" Storm contemplated the right word, "resilient." Seeing Rogue's face, she added, "How long have you been on your own for?"

"Eight months," Rogue told her after a pause. Looking around with eyes that were still feasting on the strange institution that was Xavier's, she added, awed, "I didn't know there were places like this."

An expression of regret and something stony that Ashlynn had never seen grace her teacher's face took over, before she sighed, "There _aren't _many places like this."

None of them spoke as the reality of this set in; Ashlynn knew as well as the next person that Storm meant that in all probability there wasn't anywhere else like the school. After all, the politicians were trying to pass the mutant registration act and dehumanize them – why would they give mutants schools and sanctuaries from that if it hindered their own restrictive measures?

"And the professor?" Rogue added at length. "Can he actually cure me?"

Storm floundered for a second before murmuring with care, "I don't really think it works like that."

Rogue nodded, dejected, and Storm decided this was satisfactory. She turned to Ashlynn with smiling eyes and told her to show Rogue to the study hall, which she did and would have done without instruction. She was a silent listener when Rogue at long last decided to talk again, chatting about how strange class was and that she was amazed that everyone was using their powers openly.

Ashlynn still didn't say anything as she sat with Rogue in study hall, preferring the be the listening ear rather than the avid talker, which Rogue didn't appear to mind at all. Instead, she proceeded to give her the notes from all of the classes they would have in common. Because Rogue had been on her own for eight months, she was far from ready to be put in with her age group; like Ashlynn in her first month, the professor had offered her a conglomerate schedule that shifted between the grade level she should be at and the level she was at the moment. It meant that just about every class Ashlynn had, Rogue had as well.

Which Ashlynn didn't have a problem with – far from, in fact she was glad to have someone who was working on the same assignments as her, for convenience sake. It was a new feeling to be sharing something with another person and not facing any resentment on her part.

And yet, the pleasant feeling of finally having someone she might call a friend was marred by the ache that wouldn't go away.

(-)

"Are you going to tell me what the hell that was all about or are we going to have words?" Daleigh demanded in a dangerous voice as she, John and the rest of their class left Storm's conservatory.

The pyrokinetic balked, and then gave her a hard stare. "Huh?"

"Don't _huh _me, just because I was asleep doesn't mean I'm blind," Daleigh told him earnestly. "You actin' show-off for that bird behind Storm's back's what I'm talking about."

"No idea what you're talking about," John replied coolly, already swaggering away from the other students to play loner. He thought he could get rid of her, did he? She'd see about that – she stalked after him, not intending to give up the row since such a nice opening had been laid out for it.

"Bull."

"Whatever," John replied, shrugging her off.

She didn't know what had put her in such a mood; in fact, she simply attributed it to not sleeping well in class and waking up on the wrong side of the desk. Of course, had she pursued the fact deeper instead of glowering resentfully at John's back, she would have realized that the reason for her anger was Rogue herself.

Or at least, what the newcomer meant in her mind. Plain and simple, Rogue's presence meant a change in routine.

Change was not something that came lightly to Daleigh; in fact, when change came about she was usually running in the opposite direction, desperate to cling to a past which she didn't have in the first place. Stability had vanished fast throughout her childhood and when it heralded the new, she had always found herself at odds. At seven her parents had divorced, suddenly turning their happy home into a schedule of rules and joint custody visits – she had been young, but the alteration made her older – she'd taken responsibility for her little brother when Mam went back to work.

It hadn't lasted long before another tumultuous event distorted her life in a way that she would never forget. She could still remember being separated by the fleeing crowds, the shouts about 'God's Duty' and the flames. The smoke and fire from the church were imprinted in her mind and memories, along with the blankness she revisited every night. It was still a chore to think about – but led her right the icing on the cake – the day she had realized she wasn't normal, that she could never be normal.

And then, the worst of all possible new circumstances – the three year gap that had brought her from Dublin to Oxford, confused and scared out of her wits. It was this, in tandem with the loss of her memories, which made her a staunch anti-change activist – if such things existed. And if they didn't, then by God, she was the first of her kind.

That being said, her problem really _wasn't_ with Rogue – but she did serve as a good vexation point. In contrast, when Ash had come to the manor there had been little to no change; no one took any notice and the girl was so determined to _not_ have any attention on her that she had practically faded into the mansion walls all on her own. Daleigh could handle the Québécoise, who had instantly felt like an extension of herself – the broken vulnerability that she was beneath the brash attitude.

This Rogue person, on the other hand, was practically the embodiment of change. There was mystery about her which had everyone talking – the fact that everyone knew the X-Men had needed to retrieve her allowed her a certain awe. That shy, good-natured Bobby might indulge in curiosity towards Rogue amused her – that John would stoop to low levels to impress Rogue decidedly angered her!

John never showed an interest in the new kids, if not just to bug them; Ash was a prime example of this – Jubilee and Sam Guthrie as well, Daleigh recalled with the inclination to smirk at John's past antics which had included setting fire to Jubilee's hair when she wouldn't stop playing with it in class and melting the chair Sam had been sitting in upon his arrival. But suddenly, this 'southern belle' was here and John was making nice-nice with her as though she had been there all along!

The term 'blood boiling' had never meant anything until this point precisely, and she couldn't even come up with a better reason for it than hating change.

"Don't 'whatever' me!" Daleigh snapped.

"Then stop acting like you own me," he shot back, whirling around, his face tinged red in anger. "Because you don't – I'm my own fucking person and don't need anyone else treating me like I jump to their beck and call. I do what I want, and you can't stop me."

And with that, he was gone, echoing her rather hasty exit from their last argument.

Daleigh's irritation towards Pyro was mixed with the nagging feeling at the back of her head that he was right – at least in the respect that she was treating him like a possession. She hated that feeling herself, and knowing that she was treating someone else the same way sickened her. But the fact that John had been right and that she knew it just made her angrier, and so without bothering with it, she turned in the opposite direction.

* * *

TBC 


	13. Volume Two: October 30, 2000

_**Smoke and Mirrors**  
**by ErtheChilde**_

Authors Note: On translations – when it comes to Ash, obviously she thinks in French. More obviously, though, considering this fic is in English, it will be written so. However, there are moments like in Chapter Two and a few coming up much later in the fic where the entire chapter is to take place in French – the general rule for my translations will be this: if it's a sentence, I'm not going to bother myself with a translation when you can hightail yourselves over to Google and wrestle it out yourselves if you're that curious. If it's a couple of sentences, I'll provide the translation myself – and if the entire chapter is supposedly taking place in French, I'll just write it in English and you can all imagine it's French. Savvy?

That being said, thanks a lot everyone who's reviewed so far -  
p o r c e l a i n e . b l u e (thanks so much for editing everything for me, you're the best friend ever..._ever._  
Artemis De Nacho (I love, love, **love** your comments, they're always full of such great criticism. Everyone, if you're looking for a satisfying read, check out this gal's amazing fic, _Second Chances_, it's completely breath-taking.)  
SupportSeverusSnape (Glad you like the portrail of Pyro; he is a doll, ain't he? Although maybe after this chapter you mightn't think so...)  
NumbuhZero (Thanks for the comment)  
icydragon (I hope the updates are keeping you happy)  
Fantasygirl721 (Arguably the most dedicated reader I seem to have...excepting p o r c e l a i n e, considering she would kill me if I didn't keep writing...le sweatdrop. Thanks for showing an interest!)

- and everyone else who takes the time to read this. It's my 2007 baby.

* * *

_Chapter Thirteen: _

The week that passed was a tense one, not just between Daleigh and everyone else, but with herself. She had been suffering a vicious bout of insomnia for three days and felt curiously disjointed – not in body, but in mind. At all times, there seemed to be a restless irritation beneath whatever she might be feeling at that moment and she found herself making an effort to not just plop down in the middle of the floor and scream bloody murder until the feeling stopped.

Daleigh had taken more smoking breaks than usual, which no one but John noticed, and even so, he never said anything. They hadn't exactly been on speaking terms since she accused him of showing off for Rogue; incidentally, this also meant that she had lost one of her best outlets for frustration. Not that dragging him off for a snog implied she actually needed to talk to him, but anytime she looked at him lately she was overpowered by a stubborn fury that wouldn't leave her.

Especially whenever she remembered that he was in on one of her current worries – the branding. She had been deliberately avoiding its research or anything to do with it since their argument, just because she didn't want to give Pyro the unconscious satisfaction that he'd been right about something or that what he said might be helpful in her quest.

She was being petulant but at this point, marred with her frustration toward Professor Xavier and to a lesser extent, John, the news of the McMaster incident and the dreams which were becoming worse, she figured she deserved at least a little mindless childishness. Hell, she hadn't had the time to be childish back then, what with her parents acting like two children themselves.

She was currently looking for Tabitha, whom she hadn't seen since the night before when she had said she was going to play foosball with Robby De Costa. The reason itself had been suspect – Daleigh knew both Tabby and said boytoy both hated foosball, which meant Tabby had had ulterior motives to her meeting with De Costa. Again, Daleigh really didn't care that much but because of her current state of mind, she was in desperate need of someone to rant at. John was out, Rahne was never her ranting partner and Tabby was nowhere to be seen.

The day was not shaping up well.

She was passing by the library when, by pure chance, she glanced within. Her eyes found Ash somehow among the throng of people sitting at the dozens of computer terminals in the back, and the sudden idea to express her concerns to the silent girl manifested. After all, who would Ash tell? The girl was secretive enough with her own wiles; she would probably just listen to Daleigh's ranting and never repeat it.

Daleigh had already stepped within when she saw that next to Ash, Rogue was seated rather closely, a prim smile on her face. She laughed suddenly at something Ash said, although the younger girl didn't appear to realize she had said anything worth laughing about.

The plan to talk to Ash disappeared disintegrated, but considering she had walked into the computer lab so purposefully and drawn some attention from the other students, she didn't very well feel like making a fool of herself by walking out. With an annoyed snarl on her lips at anyone who gave her the wrong kind of look, Daleigh trailed towards the computer furthest away from the prying eyes which had yet to be occupied, sat herself down with unnatural vigour and typed in her password.

She was barely paying attention to the words and queries she was punching into the newly decorated _Google_ search engine. All the while, her gaze remained fixed on the newcomer and Ash, who was obviously and bitingly oblivious to Daleigh's presence. Her eyes were either pasted on the computer before her, or a sidelong glance at Rogue, but nowhere else. _And she was talking_! Not squeaking out a sentence or two between ten-minute-intervals, but carrying out a conversation. With Rogue.

The instant, inescapably hurt question of '_why Rogue and not her?'_ was quelled just as soon as it sprang up, her irritation-tinged pride shaking it off. Of course Ash chose to be around Rogue, the other girl didn't force her to talk or steal her books – hell, the last she had checked, it was Rogue stuck to Ash like glue and not the other way around. And she was open – Daleigh herself had heard Rogue talk about times long past when she was little, or how she had spent eight weeks on the run. Daleigh never, for the life of her, would have told complete strangers anything. It was her business, not theirs.

Apparently Ash hadn't found that very comforting, she thought grimly, going back to her absent work. After fifteen minutes of steady work, the window popped up, showing the exact symbol she was searching for. She paused, her thoughts finally on something other than her bad mood and how people weren't helping it, and examined it.

Celtic peacock – symbol of purification in Irish lore.

There was a sudden, bizarre burning pain right where the branding was, as though someone had prodded it with the hot iron it had been cast by. She hissed in pain, grabbing at her arm just as it vanished. The reaction was so instantaneous that she startled one of the students sitting a few computer terminals down.

Just as the throbbing passed, a mysterious rage blistered through her, and the intense, hate filled need to kill someone was there.

And just as the ache had ebbed away, so did the feeling.

Daleigh stared at the monitor through glazed eyes, not paying any more attention to what was on the screen. Her head hurt, but not for the same reason as a headache. There was a curious dizziness there, the feeling of having taken in too much knowledge at one time. Knowledge of what, she had no idea, but she wanted to stop right then and there.

She didn't bother to shut down the computer by process, instead nudging the OFF switch with her toes and glancing across the room, a part of her wondering if she was being watched. No, people still seemed unaware to her presence.

It was as she glanced about the room that she noticed a very familiar figure.

(-)

Pyro glared at the computer monitor, wishing it would burst into flames in front of him, but holding back at the last second in case his half-hearted wish ignited the cables below the desk. The lab was slowly emptying of other students, but he had no intention of leaving so soon, even though he wasn't really working. He had told Storm that he was making up the homework assignment he hadn't passed in the class before, but really, he was playing solitaire.

And the bloody computer was kicking his ass. This was the twelfth game in a row that he had lost since he switched from Internet Hearts to solitaire. Wasn't his fault – he sucked at card games. But the firewalls on the institute computers discouraged RPG's and any other game that might possibly count as 'fun'.

His lighter was tucked safely in his pocket, a must when he was in this room. There had been one incident when he first arrived and, since then, whenever he was here there was usually someone to remind him _not_ to play with his Zippo around so many flammable objects. He itched to take it out, but didn't give in for once, instead focusing on the game he wasn't even really interested in.

When DB sat down next to him, he didn't show any sign of acknowledging her existence, instead glaring at the queen of hearts as though the computerized version of that card was the root of all his problems.

Pyro was far from ready to talk to or deal with DB at the moment; he knew from experience that she bounced back from their arguments rather quickly, while with him it built and built until things became dangerous and he had to vent. Which was what had led to their interesting little situation in the first place. She had just pissed him off so much that day that it had come to expressing himself violently, or through pent up sexual energy.

Back then he had figured the latter would be less complicated, but at the moment, he was wishing he had just burned her alive when he had the chance.

"I researched it and found out what it means," she told him, not elaborating as though she expected him to know exactly what she was talking about. It took him a few seconds to remember what she was referencing before he recalled the branding.

Although interested and rather surprised that she had decided to inform _him_ of all people about it, he pretended he couldn't hear her at all.

"Aren't you curious?" She sounded offended that he wasn't. Fascinating, he thought, having never managed to get a rise or reaction from her before. "Or are you still sulking?"

The insinuation was acidic, and he finally met her gaze with a cool detachment.

"I don't sulk."

"Yes you do," she told him bluntly. "Like a little brat who didn't get what he wanted for Christmas. No wonder people are always on your case, John – you're on your case."

His words were sharp when he commented, with a practiced fleeting ease, "I just saw that Rogue chick in here."

She frowned and pretended to busy herself with biting her nails. He saw it for the pathetic attempt at ignoring him it was and felt the barest smirk tug at his mouth. She shrugged after a second. "Yeah?"

"Mm-hm," he continued, seeing how far he could push it, "I really hadn't noticed before you brought it up, but she's pretty okay looking. Think I can beat iceman to the chase?"

The question was rough and badly constructed, his attempt to rile her more obvious to him than anyone else. It wasn't even a polished barb, but that didn't mean it missed its mark.

DB's expression changed from the detached, grim gaze she had been fixing him with since she took a seat across the room into a stricken and visibly hurt one. He hardly had time to marvel at it before she was standing and almost running from the room.

Pyro smirked on reflex that he had won this battle, but couldn't help feeling the minutest inkling of remorse. It wasn't so much that he was worried he had hurt her feelings – that had been his intention all along – no, he felt more guilty over the fact that she had been about to share something with him and he had completely shattered her confidence with an insult.

Oh well. She'd get over it; so would he.

"'Ow could you do dat?"

The voice made him glance up, and he found himself more startled when he realized who it was that had spoken to him.

(-)

Rogue was laughing again.

It struck Ashlynn (and amazed her to no end) that the girl could laugh and smile so much. Even if it was a front, she added after a moment of thought. She knew, was probably the only student who did, that Rogue's smiles and laughter were always overshadowed by something that no one but she could see. The Mississippi native had even told her outright that people tended to take you at face value if you smiled more, acted normal.

Ashlynn wondered if that was true. Then again, Rogue did look like someone who had just discovered life to be worth laughing over again. A part of her envied the older girl, at the fact that her problems were so easily solved. Apparently her mutation wasn't as bad as Ashlynn's; not that she actually knew. Rogue had been there over a week and she still had no inkling as to what the other girl could do. And she wasn't about to ask, she thought stonily. It was Rogue's business until she decided it wasn't.

"Bobby asked me to dinner again," Rogue told her all of a sudden. Ashlynn gazed at her expectantly, waiting for her elaborate on what she was supposed to say about this. "D'you think Ah should go with him? Or is it, well…you know."

Ashlynn didn't know; furthermore, she was completely puzzled when she became conscious that the other girl was looking to her for advice in one of the areas she had absolutely no experience and no idea as to what to expect. She stopped typing up her English essay and paused to consider the problem at hand. It was hard to even imagine what she should say, what 'girl-talk' as Daleigh called it, that Rogue wanted to hear. As far as Ashlynn was concerned, the indecision on Rogue's part had no explanation. Perhaps it was some kind of courting habit? She shrugged, unable to make heads or tails of the matter.

When Rogue realized Ashlynn wouldn't answer, she blushed and peered at her feet, pretending the conversation hadn't just happened. Ashlynn right away felt like in neglecting the other girl's honest question, she had offended her – and struggled to rectify the mistake.

"You l-like him." It wasn't a question, and Rogue didn't treat it as such when she peeked fleetingly back at Ashlynn with an expression that conveyed her thoughts. It was enough to answer her question, and so she added. "He likes you. I don't understand…_c'est__ quoi ta problem?_"

Rogue shrugged, appearing flustered, as though there was something more to this. Several times she opened her mouth to say something, but sighed and stopped before she did. This, in turn, confused Ashlynn, who had thought the problem was at least a little straightforward. There were no complicating factors involved and the situation was a thousand times more understandable than the mess that Daleigh and John had between them.

Months later and she still couldn't understand it.

At least with Rogue and her affection towards the iceman, she could understand it.

"Bobby's nice," she finally said, not knowing what else to add but hoping that Rogue might take some part of it as encouragement.

Perceptive as she was, she did seem to be cheered up from Ashlynn's comforting, albeit simple, words.

Someone's watch beeped and Rogue looked about, eyes clearing of the momentary light-hearted talk they had been having. Peering at the clock in the corner of the computer, she murmured something under her breath and got up.

"Ah'm supposed to go and see Logan today," she told Ashlynn with a furtive glance around, as though she too was worried about drawing attention to herself. "The professor told me now that he's awake they just wanted to run tests on him. Ah haven't seen him since Ah got here." She paused and then smiled invitingly. "You wanna come and meet him? He's not as bad as the gossip makes it sound."

Ashlynn hunched her shoulders and shook her head.

She didn't much feel like meeting the wildman Jubilee had made him out to be, regardless of what Rogue was assuring her of. The only thing she of this man who had in a short time become an urban legend about the school, was that he had saved Rogue and that he was Canadian, like her. That wasn't enough to make her comfortable with the thought of meeting yet another new person.

Besides, with Rogue gone momentarily, it meant she might get a moment to do some reading. Although she liked the other girl immensely, Rogue appeared to share Daleigh's affinity for not allowing her to get through more than a few pages before dragging her off somewhere else.

Rogue had fit in with everybody since coming there, sometimes making Ash feel a little like a burden because she hadn't been that open towards everyone else. And so she had become confused on top of all that when Rogue stuck close to her practically every day. It was as though the newcomer believed she knew the ropes better than anyone.

It was flattering, and she usually felt ashamed at the proud sensation, but otherwise allowed it.

"Alrahght, suit yourself," Rogue chuckled, taking Ashlynn's body language for her response and packing up her things. "Ah'll tell you all about dinner tomorrow then."

And she was gone.

Ashlynn's eyes fell on the place her friend had vacated and she wondered why Rogue was so attached to this Logan character, who she had by her own admission known for less than twenty-four hours before they were separated again. She supposed it was just because Rogue attached herself to people effortlessly, trying to be well-liked and just managed to make connections like that. It was what had allowed Ashlynn to accept her so easily after their first meeting.

But there was something that still worried her, something she couldn't get past. Rogue was strange and as much as Ashlynn was loathe to admit it, she was violently curious about the other girl.

_'Ben, tu n'avais pas vraiment des attachements émotionnels depuis l'âge de quatre – aucun surprise, là.' _

She blinked and looked around, wondering who was talking to her.

The voice had the tone of someone faraway – and someone was speaking to her in French, which eliminated the rest of the students around her. No one here was able to speak it so fluidly, not even Daleigh whose accent ripped the caressing tones of her mother tongue to shreds. She would have suspected it being the professor, but he would never admonish her with such a hard, criticising tone.

When it didn't happen again, she became sure that she had been imagining it. Or maybe it had been her own voice, hardened and bitter – the side of herself she refused to acknowledge existed, because it was that side which made her all the more dangerous.

The computer room, already emptying, was crowding her and she decided it was more than past the time to go off and immerse her battered thoughts in another novel. The words from the unknown were shoved to the back of her mind.

Logging out of her account and picking up the binder with her research within, she was careful to keep quiet as she pushed in her chair and wandered down the makeshift path towards the door. She paused when she caught sight of Daleigh, who was sitting in the corner, frowning at the back of someone's head.

Ashlynn wondered if she shouldn't stick around to talk to her; she hadn't seen very much of the other girl for more than a week now, and although it had been a welcome break from Daleigh's over-enthusiasm to all things social, Ashlynn considered her at least somewhat of a chum and felt bad she hadn't said a word to her in so long.

She froze in her trek a second later when Daleigh moved her head, revealing her unknown companion to be none other than the antagonistic St. John Allerdyce. Ashlynn shrank back, her sudden bravery at talking to Daleigh disappearing; whenever the three of them were in the same place, insults flew and usually escalated to veiled threats at using their powers.

More often than not both John and Daleigh were the perpetrators.

She was just turning to leave, when a bit of their conversation caught her ears.

"…I just saw that Rogue chick in here."

John's voice was dripping with insult, even as Daleigh carelessly picked at her nails. "Yeah?"

"Mm-hm. I really hadn't noticed before you brought it up, but she's pretty okay looking. Think I can beat iceman to the chase?"

If Ashlynn was shocked, it appeared to be nothing compared to what Daleigh felt. Even if she couldn't see the Irish girl's expression, the tensing in her shoulders and shaking hands was enough to tell her how much that last comment had jarred her.

Without another word, Daleigh was up and pushing out the door, roughly jostling Ashlynn as she went as though she couldn't even see her.

John smirked, eyes never leaving his computer.

Ashlynn gaped in shock.

She had known he was mean, but…to Daleigh? She understood that whatever the two had between them was complicated, but the blatant and obvious spitting anger and masked hatred that she was seeing there? Then again, she hadn't sensed any of the spite in Daleigh's voice, or at least not so much that could match up to what had just come from John.

And the implication about Rogue…!

She didn't know what possessed her to speak, but she did.

"'Ow could you do dat?"

John's expression showed that he was more surprised than she was that she had for once instigated the interchange. This didn't hold a candle to what she felt – along with the amazement was a feeling of anger, much like what she had felt that first day when he had teased her.

"Do what?" he snapped, recovering himself. "It's none of your business, so screw off."

"But she…y-you and she – I t'ought you both…" she steeled herself, scowling at him at last. "_C'est quoi vôtre problème? Franchement?!"_He leered at her, ostensibly exasperated but this was still mixed with near awe at her speaking at such a volume. She found that for once, she really didn't care. It had nothing to do with bravery – the guy was a complete _fils de putain_ and he had verbally, and rather loudly, insulted not one, but two people who had done nothing but accept her and tried to be nice to her. Friends in the most abstract sense. "Can't you n-not once just be nice? Or is dat part of _your_ mutant p-problem?"

"My p-p-problem?" He snarled mockingly, standing up now and kicking his chair a ways away, earning shocked gasps from everyone in the room and a rather inaudible squeak from Ashlynn as he towered over her, returning her to the consciousness of her size in comparison to him and the sudden fading of her anger. "You want to know about my problems? I'll give you a great hint about my problems, seeing as your taking such a keen interest."

He shoved her roughly back, nearly making her drop her books in surprise. "My major one has to do with putting up with your shit because people figure you're some useless kid. They treat you like a pet – dumb dog that they have to look after because you're 'oh-so-shy' – and you, with your nose in everything, I bet it's your plan. Suck everyone in like the manipulative bitch you are."

She figured anyone would have been hurt and insulted by this, but the words attacked her viciously, like ravenous wolves. She had endured her share of insults in her life – how could she not have after everything she had ever done? But none of the insults or threats had ever been made or directed at her with complete and total malice lacing every word.

John really, truly hated her.

And she had never experienced biting hatred before – especially without understanding what she did to deserve it. His reasons probably made sense to him, in his jumbled mind, but no matter how hard she tried to imagine what his issues were with her, she couldn't.

And so, looking away, she mumbled an almost defeated, "_Désolé_…I'm sorry you feel that way."

John appeared as though the wind had been completely taken from his sails and he didn't like it.

"You f – don't give me that," he snapped, his voice faltering as though he was giving up. She wished that was what was happening, "I could burn you in a minute, if I really tried. Don't tempt me, the mood I'm in."

She shrugged. What else was she supposed to do? He was furious and yelling at her, venting whatever suppressed rage he hadn't been able to empty onto Daleigh before she had run off. Eventually the verbal abuse would stop, he might as well just tire himself out. That was how she exercised her feelings. She had managed to get her dissatisfaction out at him moments before, and even if it hadn't been as long lasting and loud, she didn't feel anything more than pity towards him right now.

"I mean it."

"Then do it," she told him quietly, clutching her books to her chest and waiting for her words to backfire on her.

John stared, open mouthed for a full minute, before turning and leaving.

The battle was over.

Ashlynn didn't know who had won.

* * *

TBC  
R & R please. 


	14. Volume Two: November 1, 2000 Part One

**_Smoke and Mirrors  
by ErtheChilde _**

Authors Note: Logan's height in the comic books is given at 5'3, while the Logan of the movieverse goes by a full foot taller. Obviously, I'm taking everything from the movie point of view.

* * *

_Chapter Fourteen: _

She backed up slowly, step by wavering step, gazing about her with calculating worry. Her entire frame was shaking, knees buckling weakly from the constant onslaught. The odds were not in her favor, Daleigh knew this – still, she had never been one to favor odds. They tended get screwed up somewhere between 'supposed to' and 'didn't happen'.

The simulation that confronted her was harder than any of the ones she had ever faced; it wasn't often that Professor Xavier allowed her to play against tangible humanoid simulations; usually she had to make due with automated blaster rifles and massive chainsaws. She recalled one session in which she had been chased by a giant metal ball that had reminded her of the one seen in _Indiana Jones_. This time, though, he had given her permission to choose a training program that _she_ believed she was capable of. He had left her soon after that, a preoccupied air about him, promising to return in a few minutes after speaking to Jean.

Daleigh knew it was about that guy, Logan the one who came to the manor with Rogue. The fact that they were leaving her to deal with someone else was something she wasn't used to; Xavier usually insisted on overseeing her sessions, but lately didn't appear to be focused on anything in particular. And so her anger, as usual, fueled her pride during her search for a suitable training partner. She had been after Xavier for months to allow her a humanoid sparring companion, especially after he insisted that fighting against Jean Grey and Scott was beyond her ability.

Nothing really called to her as much as the one sim labeled _Omega Red_ and marked 'highly advanced'. She forwent the description and loaded the program with vigor before returning to the simulation chamber.

It wasn't the first time she had done something stupid, and Daleigh knew even as she felt her back press against the steal doors and faced her opponent, that it probably wouldn't be the last.

A bulky, pasty faced creature stood opposite her now, wearing some kind of red armor that no matter what she threw at it, she couldn't get past. Whatever it was, it was a full three feet taller than Daleigh and had sweeping metal tentacles built into its arms. She learned the hard way what they were made of, she thought with a curse.

Whenever she came in contact with those things she felt her strength diminish exponentially. They were the reason why she was barely able to stand at that particular moment.

Daleigh realizedshe didn't have much of a chance with this thing and when she had to, were she not still filled with the interminable pride, could call out to the computer's voice recognition to end the simulation. Of course, Daleigh was stubborn and she was still, even when losing, confident in her abilities.

And so she did what any stubborn, proud person would and vaulted towards the replication of Omega Red, angling herself to deliver a roundhouse kick to the indestructible plate of steel that stood opposite her now. Over the top, cold laughter from the mutant replica filled the entire danger room as she was thrown back, but she had been hoping he would take the bait.

As soon as he was caught off guard, she illusioned up a titanium cage around him, pulling in her hands to signify it getting smaller and trapping him therein. If she did it right, she might crush him –

The false cage flickered and Daleigh balked – what was going on? Her powers usually remained tangible for at least a minute or two. Barely thirty seconds had passed!

Omega Red snarled, a sinister grin on his face and whipped the metallic tentacles her way. She barely missed being caught, her thin ankle momentarily bound before she managed to wriggle free. She was on the floor now, crawling backwards as the apparition started to follow her, raising his bulky arms threateningly.

Daleigh panted, her mind signaling warnings to her at all times. Why wasn't the professor back yet? By now he would have showed up again and at least turned off the replication. Her pride was beginning to ebb away as a panic that she might actually be killed set in.

No, Xavier had already told her that the selected simulations pose no life-threatening danger…

But that had been for the programs he had selected for her, not the one she had impulsively chosen.

Her anger began to outweigh her worry. She was having enough trouble controlling it towards her own peers, but now Professor Xavier was screwing her over too? She was so sick and tired of this shit!

Standing up again, she braced herself against the floor, taking a defensive stance against the creature before her. She wouldn't lose! She would show everyone that just because she couldn't remember what had happened to her life, didn't mean she was going to let them forget her! "Come on, Big Red – is 'at the best you can do?"

He lunged at her and she focused again, pulling the likeness of an army tank from her mind and allowing it to fall from the sky right on top of the training sim. He stared up in mild surprise as the large shape suddenly plummeted towards him; she waited for the rumbling crash of metal and steal against the concrete ground –

But none came.

She gaped when she realized the tank had become little more than a translucent image instead of the tangible vehicle she had imagined.

"What the fuck?!" She hissed, watching with widened eyes as Omega Red considered the situation around them, and then smiled cruelly as he walked right through her illusion.

What was going on? Her powers weren't working – why were they not working?! This was so not good, by about infinity. She backed away and did the only thing she could think of – ran.

She was tempted to call out for help, but remembered some lesson drilled in the back of her mind, that in real life, there was rarely anyone to call for help. Instead, she frowned, forcing herself to think. There had to be a way of stopping this thing; there had to be some weakness she hadn't yet managed to figure out. Everything had a weakness – Xavier wouldn't have put these bloody programs into training modules if there wasn't a way to beat them! Obliviously her illusions were doing squat to stop the sim and her mild offensive prowess was not helping.

Where the hell was the professor?

She wished for a moment that her friends might be there with her – anyone that might be useful. It occurred to her then to see if maybe human look-alikes might be of use. Pulling as much of her power from within that she could, she summoned the guises of John, Rahne, Tabby and Bobby.

For one glorious minute they were all standing there, facing the thing with her. The image of Rahne was already snarling, hackles raised, ready to attack, while Tabby and John balanced percussion energy and flames against the simulation. Bobby, hands blue as he waited for the command. For one moment, she was comforted.

And then they too began to fade.

"No!" She yelled, scrunching up her eyes, putting more focus into it. "Come on, stay – stay corporal, you bastards!" The illusions flickered, tangible, intangible. Omega Red stalked towards them again, predatory look on its face. "Come on, use your powers, just weaken him!"

The strength was draining out of her as they began attacking, the percussion energy and flames did nothing. Omega Red batted Rahne's form aside, and with a muffled howl and the sound of choking, the image of Rahne disappeared into wisps of air.

She became conscious through her intense focus that only Bobby's thermodynamic powers seemed to have any effect; Red would pause when confronted by the cold, and then renew his vigor in attacking. Realizing that she had found the weakness, Daleigh allowed the other two images to subside and focused her remaining strength on the iceman-double.

Jets of freezing ice assaulted Omega Red at all venues, and even as he fell back, Daleigh felt her own knees finally giving way from the pressure. If this didn't end soon, she would…lose consciousness.

'Where is the bloody professor?' She snarled to herself. She couldn't even bring herself to talk, lest her concentration be disturbed.

As though even her thoughts interrupted it, Iceman's image flickered and the constant jet of ice disappeared. Omega Red recovered and before Daleigh could stop him, he had lashed out to Bobby with the life-force draining tentacles.

She watched in horror as the chimera, fed by her energy, began to fade. At the same time, the connection she had to it began to fight against her and her entire body weakened. Spots swam in front of her eyes and she gasped at the pale, lifeless face of the illusion. If she could just call it back – !

_'Fallacy. You'll not cross me again.' _

The voice in her memories, the terrible voice that came with the burning of the brand. No – she couldn't do this right now! She yelled in frustration, trying to break the connection, trying to destroy likeness of Bobby and – Oh sweet Jesus, he was dead! His lips were pale blue, his entire face ashen and without emotion – eyes staring lifelessly at her.

"No, you're not real!" She whispered to herself, cutting ties. The image wouldn't fade. "You're not real‼"

The metal surroundings of the danger room flickered around her as she fell to the ground, the voice in her head echoing its complaint to her over and over. Bobby was no longer the only corpse as the danger room suddenly morphed into a seaside scope. Omega Red ceased to exist and she was standing above the cliff. The darkness was there in the beginning, surrounding Bobby's lifeless eyes. And then slowly, light returned and the bloody sea of bodies was there.

A sob escaped her when she understood thatthey were the faces of everyone she had ever known or cared about. Her mother and younger brother, badly burned, the professor, Tabby and Rahne, Ash, John –

John!

There was a sucking void where there should have been oxygen and she screamed, agony. The cliffside receded and she was pulled back in one direction, before she knew it, finding herself in a concrete cell. She smelled blood in the air and the tangy, repulsive scent of flesh burning. There were pained moans and screams, the sound of bodies being dragged about. Horrible sobs and shrieks calling for mercy.

She whirled around, trying to figure out what was going on.

"Computer – end simulation!" She called weakly, not caring about pride any longer, just wanting to escape the nightmare that was happening all around her.

Nothing changed and she felt sick.

"Computer! End the fucking simulation!" She shrieked, staring up at the tightly packed ceiling; there were no windows, only a camera in the corner.

Why did this feel so familiar to her?

There was merely a pane of glass keeping her in, she discoveredand without waiting, jumped at it, intending to shatter it.

An electric field sprang up, zapping the right side of her face and her arms. She wailed in pain, falling back and clutching her bloodied scars. She didn't understand what was going on – why was this happening? Why did this all…seem so familiar?

_'Fallacy. You'll not cross me again.' _

She jerked about, searching for the source of the voice.

Her eyes fell on the corner of the room, which had been empty before but now held a struggling likeness of herself clamped onto a metal gurney, trying to pull away even as three burly men held her down. The fourth wasn't facing her but she could smell fire and metal and could see the branding tool in his hands.

"What…?"

It was when the man turned around that she finally felt her mind go blank in recognition, filled only with the discordant, excruciating sound of her screaming.

(-)

"This is Logan."

If Rogue had said, "This is my pet tyrannosaurus", Ashlynn couldn't have been more awed as she stared at the personage in front of her. The man was taller than both of them, square-jawed and burly, with wild hair that suggested the barest attempt at being tamed had been made and a concentrated, set frown in his face. His blue eyes were intense, looking her over even as she studied him and his nose wrinkled, almost like that of an animal, as though he could smell something he didn't like. In Ashlynn's own imagination, it was her utter terror of this man.

The three of them were standing in the kitchen which was for once not teeming with students running in and out with pieces of fruit stuck in their mouth or (Ashlynn inwardly shuddered at this) drinking from the milk carton. It was moments like this that she was actually glad to be lactose intolerant.

"Relax, kid, I ain't gonna hurt you," he told her with a barely perceptible nod. His voice was gruff, reminding her of how gravel sounded when it was being crushed by the wheel of a car. He averted his gaze seconds later, as though forgetting that Ash was even there. "How're you holding up with these geeks?"

Rogue's wide mouth was angled in a smile. "It's good…interesting. How are you?"

Ashlynn instantly became aware of the shy quality in her friend's voice and the blush that tinged her ivory cheeks; her own lips parted in surprise when it occurred to her what was going on, also noticing that Logan appeared indifferent or ignorant of it.

"I'm not dead," he replied pointedly, his tone telling them that his mind was elsewhere than sitting with two teenaged girls. "Where's the professor at?"

He didn't beat around the bush, that was for sure, Ashlynn thought, holding back a grimace. It made her think of John, but in a less pronounced and less purposefully hurting manner. Rogue didn't seem to sense the casual, uninterested way Logan was treating them, because she answered eagerly, "Ah don't know – we'll help you fahnd him though."

It came to mind where the professor might be; Daleigh had a danger room session that morning, she knew. Daleigh hadn't told her – in fact, the Irish girl hadn't spoken to her for a good while now – but Ashlynn had seen Daleigh with the professor on the way to the danger room one morning when she had attended her electrotherapy session weeks earlier. She had decided that it was probably a regular thing and considering she hadn't seen Daleigh with her two friends, or John, or anywhere on campus for that matter, it could only be explained that she was having a session.

She considered Rogue's beaming face and Logan's expression that conveyed how out-of-place he felt in the Xavier Institute. After a momentary deliberation, she managed. "_Je pense que…_I mean, I think I know where he is."

Both Logan and Rogue glanced at her in surprise.

Without telling them anything about Daleigh – as it wasn't her secret to tell and Daleigh might get irritated with people knowing more about her than she revealed herself – she explained about the labs and physiotherapeutic rooms in the basement. "Per'aps he is down there with a student, or Dr. Grey."

Logan's surly countenance perked up at the mention of Dr. Grey. He cleared his throat and glanced down at Rogue, "Right. I'll see you around then, kid." His gaze shifted to Ashlynn. "You too, Frog."

Ashlynn blanched at the derogatory nickname that most Canadians had for their French-speaking neighbors, until it hit her that he had said it with more of a brusque, good-natured voice.

_'Qu'est-ce qui lui donne le droit de t' appeler 'frog', cette tête carré?' _

She ignored the annoying voice in her mind and instead glanced away from Logan and Rogue, just to recover herself. She was just turning back to them, when without warning, she became aware of something. The window to the kitchen was shimmering oddly. Something about it radiating violently made Ash step back, nearly falling into Rogue. The girl didn't make a noise and when Ashlynn looked back a minute later she discovered that it was because both hers and Logan's gaze were fixed on the window.

She frowned, and then her eyes widened again when the same odd effect, like giant, barely visible ripples of air that distorted the very reality of the room, overtook the place. She felt Rogue clutch at her arm in surprise, and a lot more frightened than she wished to admit, she did the same. Logan's head was whipping around, keen eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"What's going on?" Rogue whispered as the sunny kitchen was transmogrified into a windowless, whitewashed concrete hallway. "What happened to the mansion?"

Logan didn't reply, and Ashlynn doubted he would have been able to if he wanted, because that was when the sounds started.

The screaming was coming from all directions, mixing in with the harried voices of what Ashlynn hoped to be the other students. Pain filled moans and, when she strained her ears, the sound of begging were marred by explosions and the grunts of a battle somewhere in the distance.

Logan was holding one hand to them, signifying that they should stay where they were and not freak out. There were hurried yells of surprise from all over and Rogue and Ashlynn watched in awe as a group of six mutants, classmates from their science class, ran down through the transfigured hallway, shouting for help.

"Hey, stay put!" Logan hollered after them, but they didn't seem to notice. He growled and fixed his gaze back on Rogue and Ashlynn. "Don't you two move from here – I don't think we're in the Mansion anymore."

Ashlynn bit her lips nervously, gazing at the cold concrete. There were no words to describe how confused she was right now, but she did as she was told, having no intention of venturing into the unknown. That was, until she noticed the openings in the wall that she hadn't before. The tiny dark holes seemed to have appeared from nowhere, and were placed in an odd pattern

An odd humming sound could be heard and she glanced back to Logan to see if he had taken note – when a jet of red flew past her face and hit Logan in the arm. He swore, and she gasped when he turned around, a bleeding hole revealing a clear shot all the way through. The laser mark stained the wall opposite, a telltale spatter of blood from Logan's wound near it.

Rogue screamed and Ashlynn stared back around, the humming becoming louder in each of the tiny holes, the warning there.

Logan hadn't finished telling them to move when Ashlynn sprang into action, grabbing hold of both Logan and tightening her grasp on Rogue, before exploding the three of them into a molecular form. She could almost feel the burn of the lasers through the cloud of particles but ignored it, concentrating on carrying all three of them past the doomed hallway to where the lasers stopped.

Focussing back together completely, she had to drum up enough of her energy to reconstruct both Logan and Rogue as well.

They rematerialized next to her with the same expressions they had worn before she molecularized them, albeit the expressions were somewhat vacant. Logan was the first to recover, shaking off the daze with an animalistic growl, while Rogue remained still for a second.

Logan scowled at her. "Don't do that again."

"_Désolé_," Ashlynn murmured, letting go of both of them and consequentially toppling to the ground. She was dizzy and out of breath, having never pulled such a stunt with her powers before. She decided not to let either of her companions in on this little bit of information, already imagining what they would say if they knew.

The lasers were still going in the background and Ashlynn shuddered, hoping that none of the other kids had gotten caught in it.

Whatever it was.

It was plain that the mansion had inexplicably turned into a prison-like facility, armed with weapons and locked up tightly, taking away hope of escape.

Her question was – what had happened?

(-)

Pyro had, for once, been in his room in the company of his two _favouritest _(and he was being overly sarcastic and snippy here) roommates. It was a relatively slow morning, as Piotr sat at the windowsill, sketching something Pyro couldn't see.

Bobby was sitting at the computer that they all shared, dutifully typing up a lab report, just like a good boy. Once in a while he would frown when he clued into the fact that Pyro was just watching him from his bed as he flicked his lighter open and closed. Pyro liked to think he was annoying Bobby, even though his neck was cramped from sitting in the same position for three quarters of an hour. He wouldn't move out of pure stubbornness.

The Boston native finally pushed his chair back and glared at him, opening his mouth to comment, but Pyro interrupted before he even managed to complain. "Are you serious about that new chick?"

The blond, blue eyed teen in front of him paused and made a face. He shrugged, going back to work, "Why d'you want to know?"

"She's a bit interesting, is all," Pyro replied in the casual, off-hand voice that he had used on Daleigh the day before. It tickled him to death to think that the comments that finally got a rise out of the tiny Irish girl also had a rather amusing effect on his roommate. The back of Bobby's neck and his ears turned red in a way Pyro knew meant anger. Glancing over with the perverse pleasure one gets at driving someone up the wall, he wondered if Bobby had frozen the mouse yet. He'd once done that when Pyro made a rather nasty insult towards his mother. "She's as shy and weird as the queb – well, maybe not as. But she's all jolty just the same . And odd looking, too. Her eyes are a bit big for her face, don't you think? Her lips too. It's like fish lips."

Bobby whirled around, jaw set with irritation. The mouse was indeed frozen to his hand, the track of ice slowly trailing back around the chord into the computer.

Pyro grinned at him maliciously. "Think me and her would ever hit it off?"

"No," the iceman said in a voice that was surprisingly fiery. "Besides, you just rattled off enough reasons why you wouldn't be interested in her."

Now Pyro played his trump card, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile. His tone was even and meaningful as he told Bobby, "Who cares about that stuff? I'd only be using her for one thing."

That was when Bobby almost jumped over the chair and probably would have physically beat John's face in were it not for the fact that Pete took that opportunity to reach forward and catch the shorter boy. Pyro laughed loudly, glad he had finally gotten some sort of reaction from anyone. He didn't even become conscious that he'd smacked his head against the headboard of his bed until he felt the dull throbbing.

"You're an asshole," Bobby snarled furiously, finally giving up his struggle against their resident strongman and sitting back at the computer. Pete rolled his eyes at the two and returned to his sketch now that his work as mediator was finished.

Pyro adopted a mockingly chastised expression. "I'm _hurt_. Maybe you should go cool off, Iceman."

The inevitable insulting curse words beginning with 'F' and 'Y' were cut off as the room around them suddenly shimmered and morphed into a boxed in concrete room. Bobby paused in amazement, his hands still fisted and crackling blue; Pete pulled back slightly as his window disappeared.

Pyro blinked in amazement at the cell they stood in, just before he fell to the floor, his bed disappearing into thin air. "Hey – ow!"

They ignored him, and for good reason. The screams and moans started right then, almost shaking the barren walls around them. Pyro winced, rubbing his tailbone with a rueful glower at Bobby, as though it was the other boy's fault that his bed had disappeared.

Pete dropped his sketchbook, which had promptly disappeared, and stood, frowning at the thick paned glass which appeared to be the only way out of the cell. "What happened?"

"Who knows?" Bobby intoned, studying the cell that held them.

"Who cares?" Pyro grumbled, inching away from a stain which looked curiously like blood. "I want out." He faced the cell with a scowl. "Hey, Tinman, get the door for us."

Pete didn't have to be told twice, and instantly his entire body become completely covered in sleek metal scales, ripping his t-shirt to shreds about his waist and reducing his face to a Terminator like visage. With a guttural sound from his throat, the taller teen lurched towards the entrance, arms outstretched and braced against the door.

Both Bobby and Pyro jumped back as Pete let out a sudden moan of rage and pain, an electric current passing through him from where his palms touched the door. With a roar like a wounded lion, the towering teen pushed himself back, falling to the ground with a clank.

"Jesus Christ!" Pyro cried, while a sharp intake of breath was all that came from Bobby. Both of them stared at the door, and then at Pete.

"You okay?" Bobby asked, doubtful.

"_Da_ – some kind of force field," Pete shook his head as though to clear it. "Powerful voltage. Electricity doesn't usually effect me like that – I couldn't even get close to the glass."

"Well that sucks," Pyro snorted.

"It doesn't have to," Bobby commented. "Use your head, John."

"Why don't I just use yours?"

Bobby opened his mouth to counter that, but sighed, frowning in concentration. Crossing his arms and staring down his nose, he adopted the same pose that Storm did when she was chastising them. "Look, we obviously don't know where we are or what's going on. And nothing's going to change unless we work together – as hard as that's going to be for you. So stop being an asshole and start to help."

Pyro smirked, leaning back against the cold concrete. "Oh, so now you want my help?" Bobby didn't reply, the expression on his face telling Pyro just how little the other teen wanted to do with him right now. "Whatever – I figure the sooner we're out of here, the sooner I get away from you."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Thanks for that clarification – just do your thing already."

It was what he had been waiting for, Pyro had to admit. He was never given the opportunity to show off his powers, and now he was being begged to do it. One word – pure bliss. Okay, two words, but he'd never been good with numbers. Tossing his lighter into the air with a flourish and catching it, he flicked open a voluminous ball of fire that grew immediately, and then grunting with effort, he vaulted it into the glass.

The fire exploded outward, encompassing the entire pane until it became a fiery red bright and warm even to his eyes. Just as he was winding down from his job, Bobby let loose a steady stream of ice toward the glass.

"Shield your eyes!"

"What do you mean – ?"

The shattering, splintering pieces as the rapidly cooled pane of glass exploded almost hit John in the face, had he not ducked in time. Still, he could feel the little bits sticking to his clothes and swore rather colourfully at Bobby.

He was ignored as the other guys pulled him from the cell and into the eerily white halls that were so far from the polished wood of the mansion that even Pyro suddenly felt homesick.

"I vote we…leave now," he said after a second where they gazed around.

"Agreed," the others echoed, and Bobby nodded to the left.

"Come on," he said, "let's go this way."

"Why?" Pyro asked, resentful that Bobby was once again playing 'follow-the-leader'. It was a game that never ended with this guy. "What makes you so sure we should go that way?"

"Well, as I recall, the stairs in the mansion were _that_ way," the American told him patiently, irritation plain in his features. "While the other way just leads to the study hall."

"Yeah, but you don't know if whatever the hell is going on might have swapped everything," Pyro continued stubbornly. "It's not like this has happened be – " his words cut off in comprehension that, yes, such a thing had happened before. Just not on such a reality like scale, " – before."

"Well I don't care, we stick to what we know until it changes," Bobby challenged. "Got a problem, John?"

Actually thinking about it, Pyro did have a problem. A very large one who happened to spout ice from his hands and have a backup who could probably turn him into beef-jerky if he took it into his head. But at that particular moment, Pyro's mind was no longer on his never-ending pissing contest with Bobby Drake, it was on the fact that he had made the connection of what was going on.

"We have to find DB."

TBC

* * *

Note: Just for you non-Quebecers, 'frog' and 'tête carré are insults that the English and French (respectively) have for each other, especially here in Quebec. Why, I have no idea, but hey – I'm a writer, not an etymologist.

R&R please!


	15. Volume Two: November 1, 2000 Part Two

**_Smoke and Mirrors  
by ErtheChilde _**

* * *

_Chapter Fifteen: _

Neither boy questioned his sudden announcement; for once, Pyro willingly followed Bobby's lead, deciding that going in the direction of where the stairs had once been was a better idea than his. The sudden worry, which he was rather unaccustomed to, that DB had something to do with this entire mess was the only thing keeping him from rushing headlong into the odd funhouse that had once been the mansion.

Was this truly the work of the illusionist? He knew that she could make them last and become tangible – he remembered the Cliffside nightmare as well as everyone else in the school did. He had actually fallen off of the bloody precipice before she had been woken by the professor.

But maybe this was too large scale for her. After all, being able to think up entire weaponized corridors? The sadistic streak that would take to imagine something like this was terrifying. He didn't know much about the flighty Irish girl, besides what he could guess, but she didn't seem to be the type who harbored scenes from a sci-fi prison movie deep in her mind.

Maybe it was indeed the professor testing them…?

No, even Pyro wasn't convinced that Xavier would do something so reckless and stupid, as fond as he was of attributing idiocy to the old man.

That and the terrified sounds that were echoing from all over; if he hadn't known any better (and at this point, he wasn't sure that he did), he would have suggested they were the sounds of torture. Not even the holier-than-thou professor was into that sort of reality.

Cries and shrieks were meshed with unintelligible begging, the kind of someone pleading for their lives. This would then be cut off by heart wrenching, almost nauseating wails. Meshed between all of this were calls, shouts of names that he recognized in the distance as other kids that were in the institute. He had seen Jubilee a little ways down, pushing herself into a corner and covering her ears. Bobby had been about to ask if she was alright, when she seemed to disappear into thin air.

And that was what had thoroughly set the fear of God into Pyro. When he realized that what was going on was far beyond any illusion he had ever been a part of before. He ran, seriously shaken by this, ordering it out of mind, pretending he hadn't seen such phenomena.

What the tiny, concrete room of doom had lacked beyond the electro-shock door, outside of the little cell where the boys had been trapped was a whole different world. Pyro nearly found himself with a few new holes in his body, thanks to a flurry of laser fire that started against them the minute they were off, but Bobby had taken them out by freezing the walls and everything behind them for safety.

They had made it out of the way and down the hall before they unfroze and reflected deadly little pinpricks of light around where the boys had just been.

"This is nuts," Pyro grumbled, beyond angry that his day was so far turning out worse than he had initially expected.

"What is this, some kind of fire drill?" Bobby wanted to know, obviously not understanding the situation.

"Yeah, because the old man would really put actual lasers into the walls to test his students," Pyro deadpanned, skidding to a halt near him. "Use your brain, Iceman, if you have one."

"Not now, John," Bobby countered, his voice hard with the tiniest tinge of fear and confusion. "Something's going on here – do you think it's happened to the rest of the school? Or is it some kind of holographic, like what's in the danger room?"

Pyro shrugged, not really caring what it was they were trapped in, just wanting to get out. The white washed reminded him too much of an insane asylum; all the needed was some padded walls and they'd be set.

A blaring alarm suddenly began to trill, almost but not quite managing to block out the frantic sounds of misery. The three boys were bathed in a red light and suddenly, the situation finally got to him, severing whatever last shred of calm he had been hanging on to. Without bothering with Bobby and Pete, he took off, jetting into the first direction that presented itself to him. His ears rang in pain from the noises, but he ordered himself to block them out.

At first he heard Bobby and Pete yelling out after him, and then there was nothing. When he stopped running and looked back, there was no sign of them. He couldn't even hear the sounds of footsteps any longer.

As he ran, he felt the harrowing, eerie sense that with each step he took, he was moving deeper into the tangible illusion all around him. His eyes were beginning to play tricks on him, almost like when he had seen Jubilee. She had been there – and then she hadn't. Now as he ran, he imagined that he could see the shadowy outlines of people, moving through him as he continued on. Every time he collided with these phantom beings, he felt a sensation of despair and excruciating pain that increased and then disappeared as soon as it came.

The hallways of the odd chimera were line with cells just like what he and the others had just escape. By now his pace had slowed to a kind of hurried stroll as he glanced about, frowning as he waited for some type of exit to appear, leading him away from the funhouse. The cells were all empty as far as he could see, tiny rooms that boasted confinement and discomfort. It was as he started to pass them more slowly, that the screaming became louder.

_SLAP! _

He swore as something smacked against the cell closest to him, on the inside, making him duck away on reflex. His heart practically beating in his throat, he felt nauseous when he sought out the origin of the noise. The compartment closest to him was completely empty, but the glass was what drew his attention.

In the centre, where the sound had come from, the smoking imprint of a hand, bloodied and crackling as the electricity heated it, gleamed back at him. As though there had actually been someone inside there –

The explosion of sound came right then, making him cringe in terror.

All around him, the sounds of flesh smacking against the transparent walls, the sight of translucent, disembodied hands making their bloodied marks against the glass – palms, fists, the imprint of some pour soul's entire arm burned onto the window as a testament of fear. These ghostly images, all pleading to be released from their prisons.

And so, panic fuelling his blood, he ran.

He ran until he tripped and fell down the hidden set of stairs.

And at that point, everything went black and the pained screams became blissfully silent.

(-)

They only happened upon John by accident.

Logan had, again, told them to stay put while he searched out the area, his nose and ears twitching angrily as he tried to find other obstacles and dangers. It had taken Rogue and Ashlynn about two minute of being alone with only each other, still surrounded by the sounds of torture and smoking lasers, to run off in the direction he had disappeared in.

Which was how they had found the pyrokinetic, lying sprawled on the ground as though he had just suffered a particularly bad fall; from what, that was the question, Ashlynn decided, frowning up and down the hallway in search of what had caused his injury. There were no obstacles or other people around to have caused the accident, and from the position of his body, it was as though he had rolled down a flight of stairs.

Stairs which, at the moment, didn't appear to exist.

"Is he okay?"

Ashlynn was shaken by her friend's voice, despite there having been absolutely no silence around them since this bizarre adventure began. They exchanged worried glances, and Ashlynn finally resigned herself to checking on the hot-headed teen. Whether they had any close rapport or not (as was the case), none of it seemed to matter in the face of making sure he was alright.

That he was alive was obvious – his chest was lightly rising and falling, and he wasn't lying in a position that was so awkward to be impossible. Her mind briefly went back to the day weeks ago when she had broken her neck and then put herself back together.

Not everyone was as lucky – or unlucky – to survive that.

"He's unconscious," she replied needlessly. Rogue nodded, eyes wide in worry. Like Ashlynn, she was apparently all out terrified by what was going on. But unlike her, Ashlynn had been terrified before and knew that losing your head just made things inexorably worse.

Something occurred to her and she bent down, searching the boy's entire frame for signs of having been burned by the lasers or even knocked out by some other weapon force.

It was as she was hesitantly leaning over, forcing a business like expression on her face as she tried to turn him around to examine the back of him, that John selfishly decided to wake up.

There was a split second as their eyes locked – hers, in a type of frozen surprise and pending a light flush of embarrassment on her cheeks and his, drowsy and utterly confused as to the situation – when the entire situation just seemed not to exist.

And then just as soon, she found herself thrown roughly away, flying a few feet further off and hitting her head roughly against the white concrete wall, while he pushed himself back on his elbows, glaring at her in what could only be described as revulsion and offense. Apparently seeing her face upon waking was not exactly the choicest thing for John, she thought mournfully, reminding herself that his intense dislike for her had probably not been marred by the sudden transformation of their school into this maze.

_'Il a perdu la connaissance, mais il se semble d'être capable de te détester. Il __se recouvra.'_

"What the hell are you doing?" the older teen sneered at her when he finally caught his breath. Ashlynn didn't miss the wince, or the half-hearted raising of his left hand to rub the bruise which was forming on the side of his head. Probably from the fall.

She didn't know what to say, and so she didn't. Luckily though, by now Rogue had developed enough ease to answer for her. And so what she didn't say nor didn't feel like saying, Rogue did. In fact, she suddenly burst out with a snappish, hard as nails reprimand. "Relax, John – she was just trahing to see if you were alahve. Which is a real waste in mah opinion."

"You sure that's all it was?" he grumbled, not looking at either Rogue or Ash, instead glowering about for another outlet for his anger. He blinked suddenly, seemingly forgetting the current situation and asked, in a smaller and more muddled voice, "Where did the stairs go?"

"What stairs?" Rogue asked.

"The ones that – never mind," he sighed, getting up and shaking his head as though to clear it. In this time, Ashlynn had already managed to creep into a standing position and steadily ignoring the dull throb in her back where she had hit the wall.

There was a short silence between all three of them, interrupted only by the sickening sounds from all around them. She supposed it was more to drown these out than any other conversation that John out of the blue commented, the tone in his words mocking, "So – did you go to pieces when this happened? I'm kind of surprised you're not just a cloud right now."

It wasn't a stab at conversation and Ashlynn knew this. She was willing to let it go, let it roll off of her shoulders, but Rogue had jumped to her defense again, her twit sharp, "At least she didn't fall down a set of imaginary stairs. Or is thaht a special talent of yours, King Ego Trip?"

John opened his mouth to respond to this, but the look on Rogue's face was one that dared him to try anything on her, she was in the state of mind to counter it. Privately, Ashlynn wondered what was causing her friend to snap like this, and finally decided it must be the mounting stress and tension in the air. Why else would she be so on edge as to give into John's self-centered pleas for attention?

Instead, the boy merely shook his head and amended his tone, asking in a low and toneless voice, "So, has anyone seen DB?"

Rogue's expression was blank, having not heard this nickname before. John watched her in disgust for a moment, and then stared at Ashlynn expectantly. She swallowed heavily, tightening her shirt around herself and staring at the floor when she realized that he was expecting her to take the turn to talk. Thoughtfully, she murmured, "_J'ai la vu. _ Sh-she was with the _professeur_ the last time I checked. _Des sessions de thérapie, je pense."_

"Speak English," John snapped, glowering. She winced, realizing that she had lapsed back into French. It took her a moment to realize that she had been doing it a lot of late; Rogue never said anything about it and neither did Daleigh, but John never ceased to point out her faults or if she was doing something against the norm.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, the words bit out with effort not to say them in her mother tongue. "I only meant, I thought that she was doing more therapy with the professor."

"She stopped those sessions' months ago," John snorted, as he glanced about the empty hallway; next to him, Rogue was looking also back and forth, perhaps wondering where it was that Logan had gone. "Why would she be going back to them?" Ashlynn shrugged, not wanting to pursue the matter further if everything she said was just going to set the hotheaded John off on another tangent against her. "I mean, knowing her, she wouldn't, not unless – "

And that was when John stopped talking, his eyes glazing over with realization of something neither Ashlynn nor Rogue seemed to see. It was obvious that the wheels in his head were turning, because he was mumbling something soundlessly, his hand thoughtfully moving up to his arm. For a second Ashlynn thought she had heard him say something along the lines of 'McMaster', but was sure she was mistaken.

Rogue, in the meantime, pausing in her worried search for Logan, scowled at John. "What are you doing?"

He didn't answer immediately. In fact, instead of saying anything, he started off in the opposite direction!

Ashlynn and Rogue didn't wait this time, instead running after him. Rogue bombarded the fire starter with question after question, while Ashlynn busied herself with keeping a look out for any more dangerous traps they might fall into. Neither of her companions seemed to be interested in this, and her mindset was still set in wariness of the place they were.

At the same time, she was trying to decipher what was going on. John was acting strange – more off than usual, was her prognosis, or at least of what he was usually like. Usually he was the selfish and immature teenager who was more preoccupied with his own affairs than anyone else. But the fact that he had asked for Daleigh – especially after what had transpired between them in the library days ago – suggested he was worried about her.

"What's going on?" Rogue cried, and John finally stopped. Not because of the new girl's question, Ashlynn realized with a sinking heart, but because the corner they had turned into was a dead end.

"Don't you get it?" he turned around, insolent eyes telling them what idiots they were.

And that was when Ashlynn's mind finally made the connection – training sessions which Daleigh had supposedly quit, the professor nowhere to be found, the estate morphing into some kind of torture facility –

"_T'est pas serieux_?" she questioned quietly, finally able to meet John's gaze head-on, her interest in Daleigh overshadowing her dislike for speaking.

For once, John didn't reprimand her, only nodded and jerked his head in the other direction, waiting for them to follow.

"Ah don't understand – what's going – ?"

Rogue's question went unanswered when she suddenly yelled in surprise. The sound was sharp, piercing, and rather brief as it died in her throat once she recovered herself. Logan had appeared out of nowhere, practically coming to form out of thin air.

He appeared decidedly worse for the wear, his skin tinged with vicious, smoking burns which stank of heated flesh. Apparently – and Ashlynn could only surmise at this point – he had become separated from them and entered into another laser field. She was surprised that he had even managed to survive it – just as she wondered why they hadn't fallen into one as well.

His face was narrowed in a look of pure annoyance, which he was surprisingly directing towards the two girls. "I thought I told you to stay put."

"We did – but we thought you'd left us and – and then we found John," Rogue protested, leading attention away from their disobedience and pointing out said teenager. John, in the meant time, was staring in almost fixed amazement as the wounds on Logan's body began to close up. His mouth actually murmured words of amazement that made Ashlynn feel the strange inclination to laugh.

She didn't though, considering the situation and considering what John might do to her if he figured she was taking fun out of his expense.

"Do you know what's going on?" Rogue questioned as Logan motioned them to move along, his ears twitching noticeably. He must hear something, Ashlynn realized, something that wasn't good for their current situation.

"No."

The word itself was laced with a tone that suggested Logan was not being completely truthful; now that she studied him, she could see the muscles in his neck tense and his eyes, which had been focused before he left them, had become more flighty, nervously focusing on anything but the imploring gazes of the minors in his company.

Logan appeared to notice her scrutiny and frowned at her. "What?"

No answer, she shook her head and just followed along. So Logan knew something…or maybe he didn't know, and this was just a reaction? But a reaction to what, exactly? She knew that hers and Rogue's reactions of utter terror towards this place was the standard and obvious reaction of a innocent teen, even if neither of them had really had sheltered childhoods. And innocent was definitely pushing it.

But Logan – and here she was the one frowning at his back as he barked an order to a rather brassed-off looking John – was different. Behind the atmosphere of being surprised, maybe even worried if she were brave enough to use the word – there was a calm, a type of resignation that suggested –

What exactly?

That he had been through something like this before?

'_Ben oui, parce que tous les écoles en Canada se transforment en des prisons, oui?' _

She ignored the voice, not wanting to deal with it right then. She was having enough trouble trying to discern someone else's madness, much less her own.

"Holy shit!"

Ashlynn glanced up from her private imaginings, eyes drawn in the direction that John and Logan were staring. Rogue's gasp next to her made her freeze up, especially when she finally realized what it was that she was looking at.

A wall of red light, a mesh of lasers that reminded her of a sinister spider web, had begun to move in their direction. The closer it was, the smaller the spaces in between became. With a grunt, Logan motioned for them to run back the way they had come – except when they turned around, they realized that there was a second wall, this time of mesh of electricity, which was entrapping them from behind.

Rogue made a noise half-way between a squeak and a sob, while John began letting off a string of curse words that Ashlynn hadn't even known existed.

Logan whirled around, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders and glaring down into her eyes. "Get us out of here."

"I-I can't," she stammered, sweat beading at her forehead.

"Yes you can, you did it before!" he growled. His intimidation was not working, she wished she could say.

Instead, she struggled to explain, "Dere's no room – I can't go t'rough _les objets _. _Il n y'a pas l'espace!_ My…I can't spread that t'in."

"What are you talking about – get us the hell out of here!"

Logan didn't understand, that was clear. Neither did Rogue, who was watching her as though she was insane and maybe even a little suicidal.

"Yeah, because scaring the hell out of her's really going to do something," John mumbled under his breath. She gaped in surprise, but he didn't seem to understand that he had spoken out loud.

"We have to get out of here!" Rogue cried, still watching Ashlynn with ingrained worry. She was toying with her gloves, Ash noticed, her eyes flitting from them to her face.

The two walls were more than three feet apart in either direction, and Ashlynn was already pressed against Logan's back, Rogue at her side. It was as though the older man was trying to protect them in his own brash way – John was standing a little further off, glowering at the electric wall warily. She could see the lighter glinting in his hands, the resolute expression telling her he meant to blast at the electricity.

She wanted to tell him that it wouldn't work, and then realized that he probably already knew it. That he didn't want to go down without a fight.

For the first time, Ashlynn noticed something noble about the hard-headed teen. A note of bravery – or stupidity, she wasn't exactly sure at this moment – that was present in most of what he did.

Rogue groaned as it came closer, to the point of John being able to reach out and touch the lightening if he chose.

And then the entire place around them stopped.

The laser wall was stationary, and the electric field frozen in time. Irrationally, Ashlynn thought that perhaps this was Rogue's power, but why hadn't she used it sooner – ?

Ashlynn staggered as she tried to push herself further into Logan and Rogue, succeeding only in pushing herself closer to the laser. Her hand reflexively moved out to stabilize herself, directly into the path of the ray. She froze, watching as though in slow motion as the beam passed over her skin. She tensed at the exact moment, expecting the pain – when none came, she could only stare.

The world around them shimmered, creating giant, barely visible ripples in the air. The heat vapor effect was back it blossomed outward, taking the entire hallway, the laser wall and electricity, the cold white concrete and blaring sirens. The screams became louder, higher in their frequency, until it was nothing but a shrill screech, almost like an alarm.

And then nothing.

The four of them stood, rooted to the spot, in the parlor, the sudden unnerving silence surrounding them completely.

(-)

Her screaming encompassed her entire body; she could feel it coming from all over, every vein and artery that led towards her throat. The choking darkness was eerie, like nothing she had ever experienced, and yet it was a calm contrast to the blatant terror that had encompassed her before.

There was an odd echoing, not of sound, more of movement and thought meshed together in her mind, clashing with the vacant emptiness.

The act of coming out of the odd reverie was a sensation not unlike surfacing from under water. For a second, she didn't feel as though she was breathing – and then there was an odd flash of light, and suddenly she gasped, air swelling in her lungs, eyes blinking in pain against the sudden onslaught of brightness.

"Welcome back, Daleigh."

She scowled in discomfort, noticing finally as the swirl of colors morphed into the grave face of the professor. Her gaze went out of focus, falling on the figure behind him. Omega Red stood, growling, advancing on the two of them, his life draining

"Professor…!"

He didn't appear to care that the simulation was approaching him, filled with malicious intent. Fleeting moments later she realized why, when the simulation disappeared, along with the artillery induced façade of the Danger Room.

Her entire body felt like lead, and she winced, both at the stiffness and the realization that she was being held in someone's arms. Scott's, she realized with a face. Although considering she still couldn't feel her extremities, it was probably a good thing. It was enough of an effort to keep her head up trying to study the professor's profile, let alone move about. "You okay?"

She didn't understand – and thus couldn't exactly answer the shades-sporting instructor – what was going on? She only remembered the beginnings of a nightmare, and everything going black after she saw –

Daleigh shuddered, pressing her palms against her eyes. Nothing made any kind of sense!

"Do you remember what happened?" his voice was low and controlled, but it didn't stop her from noticing the expectant tone in his voice. Xavier knew something that was going on, and he had yet to tell her. Impatience returning, she pushed herself to her feet with a great effort, and stood over the man in the wheelchair, ignoring her trembling knees.

"No," she croaked, her voice hinting at tears that had long since dried away. "What are…what's going on?"

He considered her, a thoughtful expression overtaking his futures. "That is precisely what I would like to know." He made a motion, and Scott began to carry her from the room, following the professor.

A muted feeling of worry, that he was angry she had impetuously chosen a level too advanced for her came upon her. Was he disappointed and going to give her a lecture?

"That's not it at all," he answered, reassuring. And now he was watching her with barely contained curiosity. "Do you really not remember anything?"

"The simulation's banjanxed," she explained wearily, holding her arms together protectively, posture imitating Ash's for insecurity. She could hear the reverberations of someone in the control room, probably getting rid of the rest of her failed simulation.

"I assure you, the simulation is working quite well," the old man told her quietly, folding his hands together in his lap and pursing his lips as they left the room and entered the sublevel hallways. "Extremely well, as it would seem."

The sliding sound of the door opening didn't distract her from watching Xavier in confusion. It was only when Jean Grey appeared behind him from the control room, placing a hand on his shoulder and fixing Daleigh with the same expression of mystification and inquisitiveness the professor was displaying that she realized that more had happened than the failed simulation.

"Something's up," she murmured needlessly. "What is it? Tell me!"

The crease in the professor's brows didn't seem to be leaving at all. "It's rather curious," he remarked, more to himself than in answer to her question, "I can sense that you remember nothing. And minutes ago your thoughts were more open to me than they have been since you arrived here."

Her jaw dropped open, suggesting words, but their was nothing. She had no choice but to allow him to continue.

"Your powers of projection seem to have experienced a rather powerful burst," he told her, and when he noticed her panicked expression, rushed to add, "Don't worry, it's normal. Every mutant, at one point or another during their development, experiences a power burst. It's just a sign of growing powers. Only – " he faltered, " – yours seems to have been triggered by some meaningful event. One that remains hidden from you in the impregnable part of your mind." He glanced up at Jean. "You sensed consciousness in her during the illusion, am I correct?"

"Yes – but there was something that kept me from delving into it," the doctor replied, tone drawn and guarded.

"There was a distinct layer of psychosis, yes," Xavier nodded. For a long time he didn't say anything and Daleigh was both too tired and too confused to be able to settle on any one question that she didn't pursue the matter. The professor and the instructor brought her into the infirmary, where Scott placed her on a cot while Jean moved about checking her vitals and running a few tests.

Xavier continued to observe her, and as disconcerting as it was, Daleigh was too curious to protest at being treated like a lab experiment. He nodded in thanks to Scott, who promptly left, and focused on Daleigh again.

"I suppose the explanation for your…lapse…comes down to the simulation – no, I'm not angry," he assured her, seeing her expression, " – I should have known that leaving you alone in the state of mind that you were that you might over-assess your own abilities. For that I apologize to you – anyhow, the simulation stressed you to a point where, thinking you were going to die, you tapped into the latent and rawest of your abilities."

Daleigh nodded, lying back on the cot. Her eyes were drooping and she realized just then how exhausted she was. She knew what the professor was talking about, and could remember up to that exact point.

"What you don't remember is your powers exploding out of your control and encompassing the entire manor – perhaps even beyond it, into a rather disturbing nightmare. Rather like your usual one, really."

She tensed, eyes widening. "You mean…the cliff? Don't tell me I conjured up the cliff again – did I? Did anyone – was anyone hurt? I never mean to do that, it's just – the experience is a mite…bloody. No one had an episode, because of it, did they? I don't go about imagining gory, rotting corpses habitually, you know, it just…it – "

Xavier held up a hand to still her babbling. "That was not the illusion that had the institute trapped. Tell me, Daleigh, were you ever in a prison in your life, which you can remember?"

What kind of question was this? "No."

"Do you think you might have been before you came to us?"

Did he mean during the period she couldn't remember? "I don't know. It might explain a lot."

He nodded, musing over this. "One last question for now – " she opened her mouth to protest, " – no, Jean is giving me a look that suggests she wants you to rest, and I quite agree with her. You can ask me all the questions you want once you have rested a little bit."

Daleigh sat back, a groan of protest dying on her lips.

The professor nodded, pleased, and then paused, as though wondering how he might phrase the question. "Our newest guest, Logan. I know you have seen him about the mansion and met him at least one – " Daleigh scowled weakly at the remembrance of the gruff "Move it, Thumbalina" that she had gotten from the walking-Alp-he-man a few days earlier, " – but had you ever met him prior to coming here?"

This question caught her completely off-guard, but the response was immediate, most indignant in fact. "There aren't many Canucks on the Emerald Isle."

Xavier nodded, putting his finger tips together. He didn't look very at ease. "I see. Thank you, Daleigh. Rest now. When you wake up, I will answer all your questions." He turned to wheel out of the lab, and then paused, looking back, "Are you alright? Despite being completely confused, that is?"

Her eyes narrowed in concentration and in a hollow voice she answered, "It's nothing compared to the actual experience."

If the professor and Jean were surprised by her words, it was nothing to what she felt herself.

* * *

TBC 


	16. Volume Two: November 5, 2000

**_Smoke and Mirrors  
by ErtheChilde _**

**_Disclaimer: _**_(just because no one seems to read them!) X-men belongs to Marvel, Ash belongs to me and for all you **Daleigh** fans out there, you can attribute her character and major plot-lines to **Meg** (p o r c e l a i n e . b l u e ), who in addition to coming up with such an intricate character is also my editor and the inspiration for most of this story. In effect, she minimally co-writes it. So please, give credit where credit is due, and when it comes to **Daleigh**, thank **Meg** and not me. _

* * *

_Chapter Sixteen: _

They put her under quarantine in the medical lab for four days to allow her time to rest. It was all against her will of course, Daleigh having an unholy hatred of being in the medical facilities, but she was so drained of energy that even arguing taxed her to an unimaginable extent. Meaning she had absolutely no choice in the matter.

Jean Grey regularly monitored her sleeping patterns and no doubt keeping her slumber dreamless – which, although Daleigh resented the intrusion into her unconscious, couldn't help but feel thankful for the breather granted to her tormented psyche. Occasionally, the professor himself looked in on her to note her progress. She wasn't completely aware of his visits, but could tell even through vague calculation, that there was something which was on his mind.

She understood this sentiment completely. Even with the unwavering help from Jean and the professor to ease her stress, she kept going over the simulation disaster, trying to understand what had gone wrong and why her powers had suddenly gone berserk.

The only true conclusion she could come to was that upon believing she was about to die, her stress had produced something like an adrenaline burst. Of course the adrenaline ended up being more like a psychotic amount of power that had affected not just herself, but everyone within the same vicinity.

Within one kilometer, she recalled the professor having said. She wondered if he had erased the memories of any innocent passersby who might have been near the institute at that moment. For that matter, perhaps he had altered the memories of the students as well?

She yawned and shifted slightly, half-asleep and yet still aware of the movements around the lab. She wasn't going to lie and say that her brief sojourn there hadn't done her any good; she wasn't even sure of the last occasion she had been able to sleep so long without awaking because of a sinister nightmare.

"Good morning, Daleigh."

She frowned against the dimness of her eyelids, and cracked one open. The dark was a stark contrast from the violently white walls, and so Daleigh clenched her eyes shut once again for a brief letup. "Bloody hell."

Jean Grey's amused chuckle greeted her in response and she turned around, burying her face in the hard white sheet of the cot, nearly pulling at the IV tube that had been keeping her fed during the long periods of inertia she had been swept up in. "Good news. The professor thinks you're ready to be released."

"**'**zattafact?" Daleigh griped, sitting up and stretching. "**'**ow long have I been out?"

"Twenty-three hours this time," the institute's physician informed her, leaning down over a flat-screen computer across the room. "Brain patterns normal, stress levels are fine and physically, you are completely rested." She grinned at Daleigh. "I give you the doctor's OK."

"I could 'ave told you _that_," she grumbled, reproachful like. "I didn't even need to be here."

Jean's expression told her that she knew what Daleigh was thinking, but just to spite her and because remembering the fight she had been unable to put up before coming here, Daleigh proceeded to think it. Jean only shook her head and motioned for Daleigh to get her clothes and get dressed.

Walking back towards the elevator, Daleigh made a face; she was well aware of the fact that she desperately needed a shower – she had that gross invalid-scent all over her, despite having changed from the ass-less infirmary tunic and back into her phys-ed clothes.

Four days of her life, wasted, she considered. That would make today Sunday.

She groaned as she understood this meant people would be bustling around and would probably see her emerging from beneath the school. Which suggested she was about to find out if the rest of the students had had their memories altered or not.

The elevator door slid open and she stalked out, casually and swaying forward with her usual swagger, intent to act as though nothing was wrong. At first she wasn't aware of the scrutiny, so intent was she to pretend it didn't exist. But when the whispers and jittery glances became more pronounced and she realized that they really _were_ directed at her, she tensed. Even with the tough exterior and self-confidence that she exuded, any person, strong of mind or not, would have buckled the slightest bit when the hissing tongues of gossip mentioned her by name, to her face, while not really talking to her.

So the professor hadn't altered anyone's memory. Just like with the cliff-side incident. There was one key difference between the two, though, Daleigh reasoned irritably. The former she could remember as it was one of her usual nightmares. What had happened…what she had done to the institute was just one of many things that had reached some imaginary boundary in her brain and crossed over, fastening the gate securely behind it. Which as far as she could see doomed it to be lost to her forever; the professor had yet to figure out a way to miraculously find her memories.

She clenched her teeth and straightened up, intent not to show any weakness to the vultures with the friendly faces. It only made them whisper more. She couldn't help it – she balked. Hurried along the shortest distance toward the staircase, determined to jump into the shower and just stay there all day for the sake of washing away the recollections of the past week.

And that was when she saw what was making everyone whisper.

The awareness that it wasn't the memory of what she had done which drew the ire of the other students was a bitter relief in wake of what she discovered as she stared at herself through the hall mirror. Her lips trembled with frustrated confusion at the sight of the angry red burns which lined her right cheek. Horrified, she followed the blistering scald mark down her neck and right arm.

Her shock and petty dismay at the burn mark disappeared in that instant, as an image of her throwing herself against an electrified glass pane returned to her mind. Seconds later, the rest followed. The imprisonment in the bare chamber, the vision of her being branded, and the face of –

Her initial decision to run to her room and the showers disappeared and instead, she turned in a complete one-eighty and marched towards the professor's office. If anyone would have answers, he would and she was not going to let him pussy-foot around them the way he usually did. As she marched through the rec. room, she barely noticed that someone took off a hoody before she snatched it up and threw it over herself, hiding her burn from the rest. She'd deal with it later.

For now, though, Xavier was her priority.

The students no longer made an imprint on her mind, passing faceless by her. When she reached the door to the Xavier's, she didn't wait the way she had last time – the door exploded before her, crumbling the walls around the room and the study nearby, and she strode in, would-be calm expression in place.

"Why is it my father?!" she demanded with a snarl.

(-)

"It's actually quite remarkable," the professor told her with a kind smile.

Ashlynn reclined in one of the guest chairs, wringing her hands just out of the need to do something lest she stare vacantly at the professor. She felt awkward as she sat there, on the spot; questions were abound in her mind. They had been there since the incident from last week, and yet she wouldn't voice any of them except this one. And even this had taken her four days to muscle up the courage to bring to the professor's attention.

The memory of the laser wall passing over her and no wound, not even the smallest scratch remaining on her as evidence concerned her.

"Your mutant abilities are evolving at a level I hadn't foreseen they would," he explained to her, gazing at her in what she imagined would be comforting to her if she wasn't so immersed in the fear that something might be wrong. "From what you have explained and what your memories tell me, it is almost as though you are able to bend a thin field of molecules around your body. They render you temporarily indestructible."

Her stricken expression went unnoticed by him.

"I'd say it's temporary right now," he mused, "but it should get stronger in future. We will have to do a few tests to be sure – remarkable," he repeated gazing at her. Despite the kindly, grandfatherly figure that he was, Ash felt the inalienable feeling of scrutiny, the way someone in a lab might look at her. He blinked, obviously catching this thought and frowned.

She could tell that she had offended him.

"_Désole_."

"It's alright, Ashlynn," he told her simply, sighing and sitting back. "I should be the one to apologize. I am treating you like a scientific specimen. It's by no intention of my own, I assure you. But in all my years, I have never seen such possibility in one entity. Not even in Jean, and she was one of my more – "

Here he paused, a queer look overtaking his features. It disappeared a second later, so quickly that Ashlynn wasn't even sure she had caught it, "One of my more capable students. It is almost as though there is no door closed to you. In your molecular state, you are more mobile, more agile and able to bend the abilities of others to your will – you even managed to evade my mind wipe of the student body because you were in your molecular form. And because of this you have discovered that in your tangible form you also have certain defenses. By any account, it's a fascinating discovery. Your mutation makes you almost like a genetic chameleon."

"And I can kill people too," Ashlynn murmured quietly under her breath.

She couldn't share the professor's enthusiasm to what was wrong with her. All her life she had lived in fear of constantly and erratically bursting into dull molecular matter, and now she had to anxiety about turning into a human laser-repellant. It was frightening that she herself wasn't sure of her own abilities. Was this going to keep going on and on?

She didn't even need the molecular stabilizer any longer, but could keep her form at will. Yes, she was thankful for it, but had this progress somehow sent a message to the rest of her genes as though to tell them to increase mutation production? The explanation could only be scientific – and if so, was it true? Would she just continue to grow and increase her abilities with passing time?

'_Est-ce-que je devrais essayer déplacer les choses avec mon esprit maintenant aussi_?' She thought in bitter panic. Why couldn't she just be like other kids – if not completely mutagen free, then how about with an uncomplicated, harmless ability that might have allowed her some semblance of normalcy in her life?

"All you need is control," the professor said earnestly, looking more serious than she had seen him to date. "Once you teach yourself how to control it, there is no telling what you can do. Maybe when you are older you might decide this isn't the curse you believe it to be. You might join the X-Men – with you on our side, we could make such a difference in the way human beings look at us."

"All because I can turn into a cloud of ashes?" She asked, more sarcastic than she meant it to come out. She couldn't help adding a forlorn, '_So I can be your weapon.' _

"That's not it at all," the professor insisted softly, wheeling over and placing a hand on her own twisting, nervous ones. "There are those who believe mutants harbor resentful, destructive sentiments towards human beings. You are proof enough that the last thing on your mind is the injury of others – humans and mutants alike. Such an intent belief in keeping people from harm is not strong in anyone that is currently at this school." He smiled at her. "Yes, it was an experience which has turned that need into law for you, but the point is your determination to keep to that ideal might spread to people around you. And for that reason, I won't allow you to believe that what you are, what you can do, is a curse."

Ashlynn met his gaze finally, despite herself feeling a smile trying to fight to the surface. Before it broke through, there was vicious explosion that left dust flying throughout the room and an enraged Irishwoman standing in its wake.

"Why is it my father?!" The snarling voice demanded, purple eyes frustrated beneath the dark hood. Ashlynn wouldn't have recognized it as Daleigh had it not been for the strongly accentuated words and exploding wall. As the two previous occupants of the study recovered, the wall and door reconstructed itself and the dust vanished like it had never existed.

Ashlynn was more than surprised, both at the unexpected entrance and that Daleigh would dare do something as rash as break through the walls while the professor was around. She remembered someone mentioning during her first week that Professor Xavier wasn't much one to tolerate rudeness. What further puzzled her were the words Daleigh uttered, meaning and beyond.

She hadn't seen Daleigh since before the illusion which had encompassed the entire school – of course, being the only one (as far as she knew) to remember that it had occurred, she'd kept this to herself.

The illusionist, in the meantime, had become conscious that she was not alone with the professor and even if she had been, her question wouldn't have made much sense at face value. A faint, barely even perceptible tinge of color manifested across her cheeks. Ashlynn was awed, to say the least, having never seen the girl even on the threshold of being embarrassed.

Her wonder was short lived when she noticed that the color became rather dark over a portion of skin which was hidden by the out-of-character sweater. When Daleigh's head moved a fraction of a second, she couldn't help gasping in alarm at the sight of the horrendous burn that reached across the entire right side and back into the depths of the sweater.

"_Qu'est-ce qui s'est passée?" _She couldn't help uttering, fingers flying to her face.

For once, Daleigh didn't do her the kindness of softening her rage, instead directing her heated glare towards Professor Xavier. "That's exactly what I'd like to know."

Her venom laced words stunned Ashlynn, who couldn't help but nod back and forth from Daleigh to the professor, trying to figure out what kind of silent battle was raging. Daleigh's face continued to grow more and more livid, eyes tinged with a confused frustration that somehow, Ashlynn could sympathize to. It was gone an instant later, replaced with dawning comprehension and relaxation. Of course it didn't eradicate the ferocity that she had displayed upon entering the study; in fact, in Ashlynn's opinion, it had likely become worse.

This was made obvious when after a full five minutes of silent communication between Daleigh and the professor, the girl turned on her heel and stalked back through the door, making an obvious point of using it and then slamming it loudly in resentment.

Ashlynn could only gaze at the spot where her fellow student had just been in a kind of detached amazement, truly unable to fathom what had just happened. Her eyes had barely fallen on the professor questioningly, when he spoke up. "It's nothing, Ashlynn – but I think our session has come to a conclusion. If there's anything else, my door is always open."

He looked a lot more perturbed than he had initially, before Daleigh's entrance. Ashlynn took this as her cue to leave and without a word, slipped out of the study. The experience had been so surreal, that she was still thinking about it when she reached the conservatory. And didn't hear Rogue ask her how here meeting with Professor Xavier had gone.

She was too intent on Daleigh, who was outside in the courtyard, walking moodily up and down under a tree, smoking.

(-)

Pyro liked the sense of being macho – mostly because he knew he was far from the ideal picture of macho-ness. He was wiry and could barely bench-press sixty pounds, but was convinced that intellectually, he was stronger than a vast majority of the guys at school. When he wasn't thinking of sex of course, which happened to be ninety percent of the time – but that was just a boring detail that didn't matter. As far as he was concerned, approaching a seething Irishwoman while she was pacing herself into an angry fury was a feat of such incredible bravery and manliness that he couldn't get over himself.

He'd already watched three people almost get their skin flayed off from barely a look and after seeing Jubilee nearly trip over herself in struggling to get away after calmly trying to inform DB that smoking wasn't permitted on school grounds, he felt it was his turn to tempt the dragon.

However, upon approaching her and mumbling out a casual, 'hey' which disguised his curiosity overly well (as he believed), he found that he suddenly wished he had just stayed on his side of the playground and that his mood of macho-ness had then declined horribly at the look in her eyes. _Thankfulness. _

To most men this would be a definite sign which might lead to feelings of manliness; that a woman was thankful to seem him. Not to Pyro. To him, feelings of thankfulness in turn meant attachment. Attachment to DB meant a whole fucking lot of trouble and was, besides, against the rules and led to _more_. What _more_ was, he wasn't exactly ready or willing to find out.

In fact, he was scared shitless of what _more_ meant – not that he'd ever tell her that – and so intended to stay away from _more_ as long as he could, but still remaining close enough that he benefited from the _enough_ that they had now.

So when DB fixed him with a long-suffering gaze that suggested there was something hidden beneath the thick air of sexual tension that usually encompassed them, he dealt with it the only way he would be more effective and less violent than just lopping her head off and tossing her into a flaming inferno. He acted like a complete brooding bastard with the hopes that she'd sense the dangerous ground they were treading and back off a little.

He nodded at her, jutting his chin out as though in challenge. "What's up with your face?"

A cloud seemed to settle over her expression, but she replied, surprisingly tactful. "A burn."

"It looks like ass."

"At least mine goes away," she shot back, eyes blazing purple fire. He smirked. Now they were back on level playing ground.

"How'd you get it?"

A barely perceptible pause and then she shrugged, taking a long drag from her cigarette. She exhaled, wafts of smoke snaking around her hair, "Danger Room session."

Pyro swore in surprise. "I thought you gave that shit up months ago."

She didn't reply, shrugged again and stared into space, a frown etched into her forehead. Her entire body seemed tense, spry the way a vicious lioness might seem before a particularly nasty kill. Like anything might set her off. He knew there was something wrong, that her thoughts were obviously heavier today than usual. Of course, he never asked because that would pretty much be assisted suicide.

She was fiddling, one moment smoking thoughtfully, the next biting her nails. He winced as each nibble brought her closer to skin. He'd read in a book somewhere that people who bit their nails were like cannibals, consuming their own flesh. The image painted the girl in such a cruel mental picture that he had to look away.

"You don't remember anything, do you?" She asked all of a sudden, bracing tone and gleaming expression included.

Mystified, he raised an eyebrow. "Are you on meds too now?"

"No, you arsehole – what do you know about psychology?" Her change of topic was so immediate that Pyro's head began to reel.

"Not much, why d'you – ?"

"Like, nothing? As in, you're a Fecky the Ninth at it or you have a vague idea but nothing that will bloody help me?" Now she was accusatory, breathing rapidly, here entire comportment edgy.

John couldn't help it. His decision to be an asshole and act like the cool-customer, aloof and distant began to backfire. His words were laced with concern and an unnatural softness when he questioned, "Daleigh, are you alright?"

The girl came back to the present with an almost audible thud, glowering at him with an intense ferocity that actually made him take a step back just to breathe. "Why yes, _St-John_, I'm perfectly lovely. In no way am I going through some type of mental crisis that just about sets me up for the loony bin – I just love being asked stupid bloody questions by a bunch of bollocks who think they know me but really don't, most especially the big Aussie bastard who treated me like complete shite in favor of some no-name weeks ago but thinks everything's right as rain to just up and come over, act like nothing's about and then ask – and have the bloody gall, I should add – ask me if everything is fecking alright!"

She was yelling now and Pyro felt like being perceived as a girly-man was a better fate than having to be bawled at by four-foot-ten-inches of Celtic wrath which was being directed at him now as if he was her sole outlet for this type of thing.

"No, everything is not fucking alright!" She shouted, face red and fists balled into tightly clenched harbingers of strain. Whatever thankfulness (if he had even seen it correctly) that the girl had felt for him moments earlier was gone, destroyed and not even a memory. "What I really wish is that ye would go back to being a skulking gobshite, instead of walking over here pretending ye give a flying fuck what's wrong with me just wanting to feed yer own bloody curiosity!"

Then, when he thought he had endured the worst, she pulled back and landed a blisteringly painful hit to the side of his face, effectively flooring him with raging vigor. "Now bugger off before or I'll pain ye!"

She promptly trounced away, practically leaving a flaming trail of rage in her wake.

And so he was left lying there, trying to figure out how such a small girl could pack such a painful punch.

* * *

TBC 


	17. Volume Two: November 6, 2000

**_Smoke and Mirrors  
by ErtheChilde _**

**_Note:_**_ I've just noticed about Ash…she's very quiet, but is a lot more vehement when she's speaking French. Personally, I think someone needs their mouth washed out with soap, lol. _

* * *

_Chapter Seventeen _

Pyro frowned against the darkness of the room, unable to sleep; he jealously listened to his roommates' rhythmic breathing and shifted for the umpteenth time, trying to get comfortable. He had been exhausted upon going to bed and now, three hours later according to his digital clock, he was still awake. Every little noise seemed to magnify by ten, a fact that never happened. Pyro prided himself on being a rather heavy sleeper.

And yet right now, he was stubbornly able to discern the low television frequency downstairs where the ever-present and never**-**sleeping Jones was channel-surfing. It was only his complete and total dislike for the snotty preteen which kept him in bed. He remembered all too well the many pranks the little brat had played on him, at DB insistence.

Speaking of DB – and here his bruised face throbbed angrily in reminder – no one had seen her since the day before when she had so effectively clocked him one. No one seemed to know where she was, not even the all-knowing little frog. He had actually deigned himself to ask Ash if she had the slimmest inkling where the illusionist might be. And even she (through the usual stuttering discomfort) seemed to be at a loss, which in Pyro's mind meant DB must have disappeared off the face of the planet.

Although he didn't shout the fact from rooftops, he was worried. Alright, worried was too strong a word – he was _vaguely concerned._ Worried implied that he was actually attached to her and cared about what she did – but keeping in mind the fact that the past fortnight had been one of the most tense between them that he could remember, he preferred to take the moral high horse and play the distant one. And, as his cheek pained him again, he wished he had played that card all through the game instead of actually being concerned for once.

He went over the entire scene in his head, trying to find an angle from which he wouldn't have ended up hit. In one scenario he actually pictured her killing him, so that wasn't exactly a reassuring past-time – but still; in all cases, things didn't add up. The burn on her face, her kaleidoscope of different emotions within the span of three minutes and then that question.

_'You don't remember, do you?' _

'Remember what, exactly?' He wanted to know with almost indecent curiosity. They hadn't interacted in more than a week, especially not after he had made that comment about Rogue when she had cornered him in the library.

Was that what he was supposed to remember? Because if so, he did – and yet there was something that told him that wasn't it.

Xavier knew, Pyro decided; how could he not? The guy could read every mind within a twelve-mile radius – even further, he was sure. He briefly, for the tiniest particle of a millisecond entertained the thought of casually mentioning it to the professor that he wanted to know where DB was, but just as soon convinced himself not to.

He didn't like being alone, one-on-one with the professor. It was disconcerting and in most cases hit the 'no-fucking-way' dial on his tolerance meter.

He might as well just try to figure it out himself. Had he done anything else to DB, besides the comment about the new chick, since the library incident? No, not that he could remember – he might have seen her in the hallways briefly on Tuesday…or had it been Wednesday?

His memory was addled, that much was clear; why couldn't he distinguish between the days last week? Had they been so boring and tedious that there was no point? That was usually the case around there, he wrinkled his brow in thought. But if nothing had happened over the past week, why had DB wanted to know if he remembered about it?

Unless she's done something – he thought peevishly – pulled a prank and felt remorse.

Which was even less likely than him going to see Xavier.

'Wait a sec…'

He couldn't remember very many details about the past week; everything was blurred along lines and events which made up his everyday but which made no sense to him now that he was focusing on it. DB seemed to have been uncomfortable and staggered. One other person that he had run into over the week had been that way.

Ashes.

The only thing keeping him from passing her behavior off as the norm was the fact that the shy girl was one of the few people who had ever come close to wiping his mind of all thoughts; which would explain DB's guilt – what with her odd friendship to the other girl.

He would have considered the issue even more, had it not been for the anguished yell that echoed outside the room. His so peacefully sleeping roommates were up in an instant, looking at him expectantly through sleep-filled eyes.

'Yeah, because that really had something to do with me,' he thought sarcastically, already scurrying to his feet.

"Help me…!"

The cry itself was weak, but enough to motivate all three teenaged boys from their beds and hurrying to the door. Pyro tripped over Pete's huge feet in the process and banged his hip against the doorframe, but ignored the pain as he stumbled out of the dorm and down the hall.

Other students were already up and slipping through the darkened corridortoward the sound**'**s origin: the guest room which had been bequeathed to Logan. A crowd had already formed, including the rather disheveled Storm and – when Pyro finally managed to chase the stars from his eyes at having gotten up too quickly – the frail Quebecoise.

Momentarily more interested in accusing her of doing something to him than seeing what the disturbance was, he only just stopped himself in time when he saw that her gaze was fixed on the open door beyond the crowd.

"SOMEBODY HELP!"

It took a while to realize what he was seeing and even then, it made no sense; curiously, the feeling of not understanding was familiar. Like he had been seeing things he wasn't supposed to on a regular basis.

Inside the room, the figures of Logan and Rogue were hunched over near each other. The childish part of him rationalized that a late-night lovers tryst had been interrupted and Iceman was out of a new girlfriend –

And then he saw the gleam of crimson.

The vicious, bloody marks were on Rogue's back, just above her heart, taking up space which they shouldn't. Judging from the expression on both their faces, and the placement of Logan's hand, John knew where they came from – knew that they went clean through.

The girl appeared to be choking on something, her hands trembling as she reached for the man in front of her. Pyro felt nauseous for some reason and at the back of his mind supposed it had to do with revulsion at knowing he was about to watch someone die, choking on their own blood.

Logan's expression showed intense confusion and regret – it was one which Pyro would remember for the rest of his life, which would follow him on every path he took – it was almost like a tangible force, the man's face on the verge of breaking.

Rogue by now had lightly touched the man's cheek, weak, with a gesture that suggested forgiveness. Momentarily, time was suspended.

And then a broken choke, guttural and low, this time coming from Logan and not the girl; venial lines broke out on Logan's face, all converging and flowing towards the spot where Rogue's fingers touched his skin. He was unable to move, and in his motionless state in shock, was unaware of what was happening. From his vantage point, Pyro saw with eerie clarity, as the would-be-fatal wounds through Rogue's back began to close up. Skin stitched together and her labored breathing relaxed.

There were inaudible gasps from those collected in the doorway as she pulled away, collapsing and convulsing. Jean and Scott, whom Pyro hadn't even noticed had arrived, pushed through the throng of students.

"Grab a pillow!"

Storm strode forward, pausing before Rogue as the other two instructors tended to Logan; the students waited with baited breath, just staring in surprise at the girl who had finally revealed her sinister ability. Pyro was sure he was one of the only people who weren't so focused on what had happened to hear her almost whispering sob, "It was an accident."

She didn't wait for a comment before running off, hurrying past the gathered students, all of whom were careful not to let her touch them.

The only other person that heard Rogue roughly jostled past Pyro, blind and deaf to everyone else and with more confidence than she usually displayed. All thoughts of confronting Ashes about the past week fled from Pyro's mind.

(-)

Rogue didn't go back to the room which she shared with Jubilee and Siryn; in fact, Ashlynn felt her heart leap into her throat when her friend strode into her room at the end of the hall and collapsed, sobbing on the still unmade bed. Mechanically, Ashlynn shut the door behind her lest any uninvited guests make an appearance.

She had no idea how she was supposed to react; what had happened between Rogue and Logan was still too fresh in her mind for her to be able to understand any of it. And as to what to do about Rogue – her social retardation was more of a hindrance now than anything before. She wasn't sure if she should say something, or if just sitting there, being with the other girl would be enough.

The frustration she felt at what was going on was enough to make her want to cry herself, but she wouldn't stoop to such an immature level. Not knowing what else to do, she stepped forward and stopped, hunched over the shaking form of the other girl. What the professor had said about other people whose abilities led to pain flittered through her mindand she regretted having thought that Rogue's mutation might be less hazardous than her own.

Reaching out tentatively, wanting to comfort the other girl by placing a hand on her shoulder, she was shocked when Rogue jerked away, pushing herself as far away from Ashlynn as possible. Her face was all blotchy, tell-tale tear stains marring the pale skin.

"Don't do thaht," she whispered, eyes like a trapped animal. "Y-you saw…people get hurt when they touch mah skin."

Digesting this information, Ashlynn slowly sat down on the bed, watching Rogue with newfound understanding. And she had thought that she had problems; all of a sudden, her need to distance herself seemed almost mundane in comparison to the other girl. Rogue had no choice, couldn't touch people and could never get close to anyone. It was something she couldn't control and when Ashlynn thought about it, there was no wonder that Rogue was attracted to Logan. Someone that could heal (and Ashlynn was sure that Rogue had known about this, or she never would have thought to reach out to him after being impaled) as quickly as he could was her natural reaction to her entire lack of human contact.

And here was Ashlynn, with no handicap as bad as that, voluntarily pulling away whenever she was even in the same vicinity of other people. Had Rogue felt even more set apart from the others with Ashlynn's frigidity? A volley of new worries surrounded her thoughts, attacking all of her own quirks and the life she usually took advantage of, all just because of one moment.

"_Tabernac_, _je suis une petite fou," _ she thought with almost vicious anger towards herself.

Rogue was still watching her expectantly, waiting for her to leave her or inch as far as possible across the room; maybe both.

Ashlynn could sense the importance of her next actions, knowing they would be under dire scrutiny by the upset girl. She remembered the day she'd broken her neck, that if she had been normal she probably would have died. It was the smallest consolation she could think of, but it was enough to jumpstart her sleep-deprived mind into an idea.

With what she hoped sounded like a careless, brave tone, she managed, "I'm different. I don't get 'urt."

Rogue appeared incredulous, a frown on her face like she didn't believe her. "You're just saying that; besahds, Logan doesn't get hurt ahther, an' look what Ah did to him."

" Logan touched your skin though," Ashlynn said, careful to word it without portraying Rogue as the offending party. "Even he doesn't have immunity to something like that. He's more solid than anyone 'ere." She tried to sound like she was making a joke, but Rogue only looked at her blankly, not understanding.

What the professor had said about an impenetrable field she could surround herself with came back to her thought now, full force. There hadn't been anything to test her theory with just yet, and she supposed this was as good as any. If something happened, she could always pull back.

Unable to think of the words to explain herself, she held up her hand and reached for Rogue. "_Regarde." _

Predictably and on reflex, Rogue pulled away, stunned and frightened. Although the reaction had been expected, Ashlynn felt discouraged. Still, a part of her told her that it was important for her to do this, both for Rogue**'**s obviously flustered emotions and to a small extent, her own.

Glaring lightly at Rogue with a determination that usually didn't rest on her features; she steeled herself and then threw her hand out, catching hold of Rogue's wrist with grim ferocity. Rogue yelped, trying to pull away, but Ashlynn held fast, at the same time tense, trying to focus the way she had in the laser field.

Her grip on Rogue's struggling hand was strong, and for a moment she felt surprised; she hadn't had much contact with anyone in her life. Ginette had tried once or twice, in a motherly gesture, to brush back her hair from her eyes and little Jerome had always wanted to be picked up or cared for. But she had shirked from both of them, worried about falling apart.

Now she could only stare at hers and Rogue's hands, watching the tense bearing in which Rogue's hand remained, before slowly relaxing. In awe and still stained with tears, Rogue face all of a sudden seemed to open. Her finger shook as she moved her hand, leisurely fitting her fingers in between Ashlynn's, watching them clasp.

What the gesture symbolized for Ashlynn, she could only wonder what it meant to Rogue. The girl had been without human contact for how long now? And now, out of the blue, she had found someone who could work around her mutation.

A swelling pride, that she had been able to help someone took up residence in Ashlynn, filling her with a warmth she couldn't recall having ever experienced.

"How…?"

Ashlynn shook her head in response to the unasked question, not knowing how to explain. She paused, all of a sudden feeling odd; looking down at their clasped hands, she noticed the problem.

Her hands – and not only those, but her entire body – had begun to shimmer, flickering like one of Daleigh's illusions did when their time ran out. For a second, Ashlynn wondered if Rogues powers, the draining absorption had found away around her molecular shield. And then she realized how much of her energy and concentration she was using to keep up the shield; more than she had ever used to keep her form corporal.

She let go of Rogue, turning to her cupboard and taking out the form inducer; Professor Xavier had suggested she hold onto it in case of an emergency. Dizzy from weariness, she put it on and faced Rogue.

"Ahm sorry – "

"It wasn't you," Ashlynn told her, wanting to reassure her. All of a sudden, Rogue was more important to her than anyone else in this place. She didn't know if it had happened during the odd display of Daleigh's imaginings or right now when they were able to touch. But the knowledge that she finally, after so long, had a real and true friend who understood her and who might as well have been her, was more than a comfort. And she didn't want to let go of it do quickly. "I can't control that yet." At Rogue's questioning gaze she added, "I'll tell you in the morning. _Je promis._"

The other girl blanched, and then with an understanding smile, nodded. "Okay."

(-)

'Fucking Freud.'

Those two words repeated like an annoying, sing-song nursery rhyme in her head; ongoing and incessant, set to a musical beat that might have been catchy if she hadn't been so totally wasted. What the hell was she thinking – of course it was catchy, _because_ she was totally wasted. Her thoughts were flying all over the place, as though her brain synapses were firing off feeling into the black abyss. Fragments kept coming at her with frightening, near physical velocity.

_"You seeing your father in your mind is a mere Freudian characteristic; dreams are not meant to make sense, Daleigh, much less be coherent. You and I both know what an absent, threatening figure your father was prior to your parents divorce. You seeing him in this nightmare scope is just latent resentment."_

The park was empty, as far as she could tell, and so much the better. Less of a chance of her being taken as a helpless victim and then having to beat the ever loving stuffing out of some moron. Daleigh was a force to be reckoned with under normal circumstances; she knew from experience that as a drunk she became a lot less inhibited and more prone to throwing punches.

Her clothes stank of stale cigarettes and the thick smell of pot clung to her; the last concert she had snuck into had been more dedicated to the art of getting stoned than the music, but all in all she found she liked it better that way. She'd been given a rest from those tortuous little images called _thoughts. _

_"His branding you is a mere symbol of what psychological damage he did to you – you said yourself that in the nightmare you saw the faces of your mother and brother. It's obvious that you blame your father for what happened to them._ _And seeing the death of your friends is just your hidden worries at becoming attached to anyone lest you hurt them in the same way your father hurt you." _

Although unquestionably inebriated, she had enough sense to her to know that she had been missing from the Institute for near two days now. This was ingrained in her mind for the sole reason that she was surprised the professor hadn't sent his bloody minions after her yet. The last time she had played hooky and wandered about the town had been half a year ago, and within three hours Jean Grey had been dispatched to fetch her.

Like she was a misbehaving dog, she thought grimly, grabbing a rumpled cigarette from her pocket and lighting it. And now she had turned in the collar for a cage, because they wanted her to be their fecking lab rat.

At least that was what she had gotten from her literal tête-à-tête with the professor.

_"What is curious, though, is why such things would become so pronounced to manifest into this…torture facility. Taking an educated guess, I would suggest it is your own mental concoction, the prison that you envision which is keeping you hidden from the rest of your life. A maze, it would seem, which no matter how much you try to navigate through, you can't get past it. The mind is a fascinating place. I would sorely like to explore this new development further with you. I believe it is both the key to unlocking your growing abilities and more importantly, your past." _

It was all bollocks as far as she was concerned, just another reason for the professor to babble about his belief in redemption and his ever-present interest in the evolution of mutantkind. His explanation about her father, and her mind becoming a maze that blocked her from her past, made sense. But she didn't like it or feel like that was the true answer.

Angrily, she kicked at the grass, ignoring the pain that ran up her leg from stubbing her toe accidentally.

"Fucking Freud."

A part of her intoxicated mind berated her for being such a complete moron about the entire situation, that running out on the one place that had treated her like a home for the past year wasn't the answer to anything. Hell, the professors had even cut her slack and given her the benefit of the doubt after turning the entire mansion into her own little horror house. They'd given her a lighter course schedule and longer breaks where she could rest –

"And relocate me to the lab for tests," she added bitterly, her aversion to being a test subject springing up again.

Somehow, in spite of their kindness, that last thing just wouldn't leave her mind. She held grudges that way. Furthermore, the image of her father branding her with a hot iron was the one nightmarish depiction that she couldn't get rid of.

What kind of a sick and twisted mind came up with these things? All she needed to add now were bunnies in a blender and she was competing with fucking Hitler for sick-and-twistedness.

Something suddenly occurred to her.

What if, in her three year blank, she had thought up something so terrible and horrendous, and her powers had brought it to life? Although her illusions were temporary, their consequences tended not to be. For example, if she imagined someone with a knife suddenly sticking through them, it would happen. Seconds later the knife might disappear, but the person was already dead. It was a permanent effect. Had she perhaps done something…disgusting and twisted, so ghastly that she had to block the memory?

'No, that's not it,' she told herself vehemently, staggering out of the park and across the street, nearly falling onto a stopped car. She ignored the angry beep of the car horn and snapped about ruddy Americans. 'If that was it, why wouldn't the professor have been able to find out about it?'

There was something she was missing, something that was under her very nose, she could feel it, and yet she was unable to find it.

Being drunk probably wasn't helping, she reflected with mournful regret. But at least she wasn't asleep, inflicting pain on others. She had learned after a few odd parties she'd snuck into that being drunk hindered her illusion abilities. She could still carry them out, but things became distorted and odd looking. Like surrealism, only brought to life.

The apartment building looked as she remembered it; she hadn't been here in months and the last time

she had crashed here she'd been suffering from alcohol poisoning. 'Not my fault,' she maintained, knowing full-well it was.

Her only hope was that he wouldn't give her another one of his guilt-laced tirades that always made her feel repentant for any past actions.

* * *

TBC 


	18. Volume Two: November 7, 2000

_**Smoke and Mirrors**  
**by ErtheChilde**_

_**Disclaimer: **__Just to remind everyone, the movies do not belong to me and anything you may recognize from them is not mine. Everything you don't recognize is mine though, except Daleigh who belongs to Meg. Simple as that._

* * *

_Chapter Eighteen:_

She didn't leave Malek's apartment until late the next night – and this was mostly because she was nursing a vicious hang-over and trying valiantly to ignore the young man's mollycoddling. It made her wish for what wouldn't be the last occasion that she hadn't thrown up on him in the subway that time months earlier. Said vomiting had led the kindhearted young Egyptian-American to carry her to his apartment and foster her back to health. Ever since then, an interesting bond resembling friendship had grown up between them and sometimes, she wondered if it would be so bad to go the extra mile.

Malek was definitely more considerate and less of a nosy git than John. And yet…

He was just so sickeningly _good_ that Daleigh recognized she could never feel anything beyond mind-numbing, unconditional friendship.

She shook her head and took another swig of the rather tasteless beer she had persuaded some random passersby to buy for her. There was a lesson in this…about old dogs or something? She really didn't know. Nor did she care,

Daleigh was uninterrupted as she walked over the vast Xavier grounds, at the furthest recesses of her mind wondering if she should bother stashing the bottle or just walk into the mansion with it in her grasp. In either case she figured she was probably going to get a long, boring tirade about morals and shite all, so why not just go to the extreme?

She was being childish. She knew it. Malek knew it. The professor probably could sense it if he was actually awake so late at night.

The bloody professor, she thought with slurred anger. He was keeping something from her, and she so disconnected that she couldn't tell. Hell, a blind, deaf, dumb…dog or something would get the message that he was keeping something to himself. If this was how he was treating the Walking Alp, it was no wonder the guy was always grimacing like he had a pike lodged up his arse.

She was out of cigarettes, and that annoyed her to no end; she'd buy more, but she'd given the last of her money over for the beer – which meant she'd either have to steal some the next morning or wait for her monthly allowance to come in early. Something told her the professor wouldn't like the idea of her buying smokes with the careful amount of money he allotted to the students with no financial support and that the former option would be the most likely.

Hey, she might be able to guilt Ash into giving it to her, she thought with momentary malice. A second later she almost regretted it, likening the action which hadn't even taken place yet with something like taking candy from a baby.

But seriously, what wasn't like that these days? Addled, she squinted up at the manor, the lights within flickering tauntingly the closer she got to it. Since her less than subtle explosion of powers, she had felt guilty for being around, let alone doing something to actually warrant it. Guilty and bitter, she thought viciously, tossing the half-full bottle carelessly off to the side as she trudged up the path.

The sensation of bitterness wasn't placed in the individual she would have thought. Oh, there was plenty which seethed within her, directed at the professor for everything he wasn't telling her and then there was the tiniest, minutest part which stewed within her at her own stupidity (because seriously, she must have done something to bring about the three year absence of so much as even a thought). There was even some tiny speck she wanted to throw at Ash, just for taking to Rogue better than her.

But a large – very large – part of the bitterness and raw, unleashed anger was directed at John. John, with his stupid leers and his inability to just let her be when she was angry and the way he treated her like nothing. The anger at him wasn't enough for her to consider they're little arrangement was doing something to her – truth be told, she hadn't really thought about gratifying makeout sessions for weeks now, her being so angry. But a nagging voice at the back of her head was telling her this was just what had happened.

The interior of the manor was dark, a house asleep in the wake of some nameless lethargy; silent except for the TV frequency and the occasional shifting from the resident insomniac. Daleigh didn't bother with him, instead starting up the stairs right away towards her room. She was hoping she could get there without running into anyone, thus lessening the probability of a lecture.

Of course reality being what it was and life sucking as it did, she hadn't turned the corner towards the girls dorm rooms before she almost collided roughly with another body. She had to grab hold of the wall to stop herself from falling over, and as she tried to gather her thoughts and balance, she glowered at the reason for her fall. "The hell are ye doin'?"

Of all the people she had wanted to avoid, although Rogue hadn't been on the list, she wasn't exactly a welcome sight to Daleigh. Being drunk did a few things – loosening her tongue and exponentially increasing her dislike of the usurping newcomer, for example– but it didn't make her stupid. She was able to put two and two together, and upon seeing the other girl wrapped in a hooded jacket and with a duffle slung over her shoulder, promptly came out with four.

"Yah leavin' then?"

Rogue didn't meet her gaze, but Daleigh saw her wrinkle her nose and frown; probably in response to the stench of booze and cigarettes.

Snorting and shaking her head, Daleigh started back towards her room, tossing a casual, "'Snot a good idea,"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Being directly spoken to was the last thing Daleigh had expected to come from the Mississippi native – and it was probably for this reason she found herself turning around and fixing Rogue in a somewhat watered down version of a death glare. "Oh, yeah?" She stalked forward, hands on her hips. "Try me."

"He said I was stealing peoples' gifts," Rogue gasped, appearing as though she was going to start sobbing. "He said I needed to get outta here, that even the professor…that even he doesn't know what to do with me."

"Yeah, and that right there's such a surprise," Daleigh grumbled, reflecting about her own predicament with the professor and not the other girl's. She noticed how Rogue paled, her lips thinning and eyes not betraying a feeling of hurt. A part of her wondered if she should bother telling her the comment had been unrelated to anything the mysterious _he_ might have said.

Nah, Rogue was the reason she was feeling about as good as pond scum. When in pain, share the misery seemed like a good enough motto at the moment. Shaking her head at the girl, she abandoned her angry stance and decided her room was definitely a better place to be than the hallway. "Do what ye think best, but don't expect things t'be better out there, right? I just got back from it. Not worth it."

With that, she finally managed to hobble to her room and close the door behind her, her concern for Rogue disappearing just as she heard the click of the door.

(-)

As a rule, Ashlynn generally kept to her own business and didn't like to pry; that being said, she'd come up with that life rule before she ever thought she'd have friends. So when Rogue, who had been encamped in the Quebecoise's room since the incident with Logan, never came to bed that night, Ashlynn felt that she could make an exception and find out what was going on.

After waiting for the sound of whispering voices outside to ebb away, she had slipped from her room and wandered down the hall to where Rogue roomed with Jubilee and Siryn. A quick glance inside had told her that not only was her friend not there, but her things had mysteriously disappeared as well.

Stricken was a word which best described Ashlynn as she returned to the corridor, pausing for a second trying to figure out what to do. It was unlikely that Rogue would have moved her belongings somewhere else so late at night – was it possible that she had gone down to the lab for diagnostics? No, Rogue had always known what her abilities were and weren't, and as far as Ash knew the professor hadn't asked to see her at all since the incident (and if he had, Rogue hadn't gone).

Her thoughts jarred a little when down the hall there was a slam and the sound of feet, before she recognized the rather disheveled form of Daleigh thundering towards the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. Seconds later, the sound of retching could be heard.

Ashlynn remained motionless for a second, her need to find Rogue momentarily put aside when she wondered if she should help Daleigh if she was sick. The two hadn't been on the best of terms of late – mostly considering they hadn't been hanging around one another since Rogue's arrival – but it didn't stop Ashlynn from being a little concerned about the older girl's health; especially as she hadn't seen her for the past two days.

The Celt took the decision from her hands before she was three feet away from the door, stalking out looking pale and angry. Upon seeing Ashlynn standing doubtfully in the hallway, she grumbled, "What is this, a bloody White Night? Can't you people just stay in bed like normal?"

Ashlynn blinked, confused, barely able to whisper her question. An odd nervousness at being overheard chatting with someone so late after hours had taken over. "What do you mean – are you alright? _T'as besoin de quelque chose_?"

Daleigh shook her head venomously, the movement making her loose even more color and clutch her stomach in pain. Without waiting, Ashlynn guided her back into the bathroom towards a stall, only managing to catch her hair in her hands moments before the girl threw up again.

The smell of smoke and cannabis was not lost on her, well remembered from the time when Daleigh and her friends had dragged her on a night on the town. She couldn't recall ever having seen anyone this sick, though, especially Daleigh. The diminutive young girl was usually a lot less affected from recreational drugs and such, which made Ashlynn wonder if she had really overdone it this time.

Daleigh moaned, falling back against the wall of the stall they were in, a half-hearted cry echoing around them. Businesslike, Ashlynn flushed the toilet and brought the two of them towards the sinks, trying to clean them both up as best she could. Daleigh didn't appear to notice as Ashlynn half carried, half-led her to her room and put her in the bed, pulling up the plastic bin nearby, just in case.

"Are you alright now?" she asked in silent worry. "'ow long have you been like dis?"

"Since I got back," Daleigh moaned, burying her face in her pillow miserably. "An hour?"

Ash nodded at this information, wondering if she should let the professor know that Daleigh was home and then remembered that the other girl didn't like the medical facility. Perhaps it was better that she stay here then, Ashlynn thought, her worries about Rogue momentarily returning.

"Why are you doin' this?" Daleigh groaned, turning about to squint at Ash through the darkness; the room was too void of light for them to actually make eye-contact. "We're not friends."

Ash nodded tersely to this and then, after a little deliberation, "No one else will."

The inebriated girl let out a rough chuckle, which sounded like it hurt her.

They sat in silence for a long while, Daleigh inhaling in labored gasps that made Ashlynn suppose it was alcohol poisoning at the furthest extent. She wondered what possessed someone to let themselves go to such a sickening level, but knew better than to ask. Drunk or not, Daleigh was bound to defend herself with heated insults and cutting remarks.

"She left, you know."

Ash almost jumped when Daleigh broke the silence. Glancing down at her, she frowned in confusion. "_Qui_?"

"Rogue," Daleigh coughed, curling around and pulling her knees up into a protective, fetal position. "When I came back. Decided…decided on the street." She interrupted herself with a yawn and pressed her face into the bed. "You should probably tell someone."

Ashlynn felt as though she had just been turned to stone; Daleigh's admission ran through her mind several times before it finally clicked, and when it did, a sinking feeling entered her stomach that made her wonder if she hadn't somehow contracted Daleigh's nausea.

"D-did she…say where she was going?"

"Yeah, because I was really able to ask through the gargantuan pounding of my head," Daleigh snapped, tightening her hold on the blankets.

"Did you try to stop 'er?" Ashlynn whispered in an unnaturally even tone; when Daleigh only mumbled something unintelligible and nestled further into the blankets, something inside her broke.

Her hand moved before she had consciously planned to; one moment it was at her side, a second later she reached over and grasped Daleigh's hair tightly, fisting a large handful of it at the base of her neck and leaning in close, ignoring the stench of vomit on the other girl's breath. Paying no heed to the curses and struggling of the other girl, she asked again, tone not showing any signs of her usual tentative self. "Did you try to stop 'er?"

"Fuck no – get your bloody hands off of me!"

Ashlynn let her go and stood up, no longer concerned with Daleigh's sickness. Rolling her eyes heavenward she let her face fall into her hands, a vicious dread falling over her as the full meaning of what Daleigh had told her set in. "_Tabernac…t'a prennez un brose – crises moi patience…"_ She glowered at the other girl. "I 'ope you know what a terrible person you are. And coming from me, dat's saying somet'ing."

"Up your Swiss," Daleigh bit out, sitting up in bed now and matching Ashlynn's glare of disgust with one of anger and hatred. "My issues are fucking pre-school compared to yours. What the hell makes it okay for you to be distant from everyone and then deign yourself to deal with them? What are you, better than people? 'Zat what you really think, you twisted frog?"

"I stay away from people to keep them from getting 'urt – and apparently you should try this too, because no one needs to go t'rough your little amusement park again!" she hissed, before whirling around and leaving the room. She barely heard the door slam or the shatter of something heavy being thrown against it, instead focusing on doing something. It occurred to her to go to the professor about this – and yet she found herself outside of Logan's door, banging obscenely loud knocks against the wood, waiting for him to answer her.

The door opened with a rough yank, coupled with an annoyed snarl from the once-sleeping man; apparently he remembered his last midnight visit, because he kept his arms carefully out of reach of whoever might be at the door. As he glared down at her, Ash's words faltered in her throat.

"What?" he snarled, tone laced with sleep.

Ash swallowed, squaring her shoulders. "Rogue – it's Rogue, she…" His eyes narrowed expectantly. "_Elle est disparu. J-je pense qu'elle est partie."_

"What do you mean, _left_?" he snapped, not waiting for her reply as he pushed past her so fast that she exploded into tiny molecules and reassembled a minute later. When he didn't appear surprised at this, she remembered that the professor probably hadn't erased the memories of the adults.

He thundered down the stairs towards the labs and Ashlynn could do nothing else but follow, not noticing the curious stare from the boy sitting in the rec. room or heeding Logan's curt order to 'stay there'. She followed him into the elevator to the sublevels non-the-less, pushing herself into the furthest corner from him and watching him pace impatiently in the tiny room.

It was only then that the absolute barbarity of her actions towards Daleigh fully hit her; she had never lashed out as someone with so much venom, so far as to physically hurt them – and the other girl had been sick and miserable at the time too! Ashlynn feel like she might throw up at the memory of abusing the other girl. The mood had passed over her without her noticing, as though someone else had taken control.

'_Ben, si elle n'avait pas été un idiot, tu n'aurais pas besoin de le faire. __C'est pas ta faute.'_

Ashlynn's joints seize up at the idea– the fact that a part of her might think something like that was alien to her, and she didn't like it. It was like some outside force was the boss and she had no say in it.

The doors of the elevator burst open and Ashlynn was surprised to see Ms. Monroe standing there, appearing as off-guard as she felt. Logan didn't spare her a glance, stalking forward without a word, a man on a mission. Ashlynn's teacher looked as though she wanted to ask what was going on, but after a second of consideration, instead followed Logan.

Not knowing what else to do, Ashlynn tagged along behind them. She was so agitated, she didn't even flinch when Logan prowled through the hallways, into the lab facility where Professor Xavier and Scott Summers were talking. "Where is she?"

The demand hinted at damage the newcomer might do if he didn't get the right answer.

"Who?" the bespectacled man asked, frowning; it was instantly evident to Ashlynn despite the situation and the almost complete lack of expression in his face, that Scott Summers didn't like Logan and the sensation was definitely mutual.

"Rogue."

Xavier, still silent, closed his eyes, his brows creasing.

And then he spoke the words that Ashlynn had been dreading. "She's gone."

(-)

Pyro yawned and stumbled out of the bathroom, the sound of the toilet flushing uncharacteristically loud in the silence of the manor, scratching at his boxers lethargically. His head was swimming with sleep and forgotten dreams which he hoped to finish once he got back to his room.

His bare legs were covered in goosebumps, the night air being significantly colder against his skin, and he was shivering. Instinctively he reached for his lighter, before remembering he'd left it on his night table. It was odd how alone and powerless he felt without the silly metal contraption; almost as odd as it felt to suddenly be afraid of the dark again in the lonely hallways.

If DB ever spoke to him, he'd be sure not to mention that.

Later on, he would ask himself why he was such a nosy little fucker, why he wouldn't leave things alone. Maybe if he had done that, he might have gone back to bed and continued in his lazy little dreams which involved the usual teenaged boy fantasy's.

Of course, Pyro couldn't help the curiosity when he heard what sounded like a sob coming from the stairwell and consequently, wandered down the darkened hallways towards the noise.

When he got there, he saw what he had least expected to see.

Sitting at the top of the stairwell, Ashlynn Richard sat tensely, her arms protectively slung around her knees, shoulders shaking every once in a while. If there was anything strange about seeing Ashes sitting in the dark, on the stairs in the middle of the night, it didn't hold a candle to what he saw when she heard him and glanced up all of a sudden. The girl's face, whose range of emotions seemed to include only fright and confusion, was twisted in an expression of pain and worry, her eyes glinting with something he'd never seen before. She was biting her lips and her shallow breathing revealed that it was indeed her that had been crying before – or at least, trying very hard not to cry.

"What the hell are you doing up?" he asked, his shock overriding his usual sneer. She blinked at him blankly in reply, before returning her gaze in front of her and inhaling deep, staggering breaths. Her blatant display of ignoring him was new, and with the usual amount of his pride springing up again, he decided he didn't like it. "Hello, are you deaf?"

"_Rogue est partie_," she mumbled, her voice feather light; he almost didn't hear her.

"Speak English," he commanded immediately, right away regretting the tone he used.

She considered him for a moment, and then almost as though a sense of defeat fell over her, she managed, "Rogue left. S-she ran away after…what happened." Pyro hadn't expected that to be the reason behind Ashes' dejection, and almost said something derisive about lesbian crushes and such, but unexpectedly, she cut him off, "Dey left. De _professeur_ too. I wanted…I wanted to go along, but dey wouldn't let me." A staggering breath that he was sure hid a sob. "Dey said it would be _dangereux_."

He nodded once, curtly, deciding that now was the time for him to return to his room and not deal with this. He'd already attempted to cajole one emotional teenaged girl, he wasn't exactly dying to deal with another. He doubted Ashes would punch him, but he wasn't sure he wanted to find out what she might do. His need to get her mad didn't carry over into insulting a crying girl.

Who was sniffling pathetically.

"If you were trying to do that quietly, you really chose the wrong place to do it," he told her, forcing himself to recover his usual swagger.

He almost heard the snap of her neck shooting up to gape at him, wide-eyed. And then, something he had never expected to happen did.

She burst into tears.

All of the tension exploded around her, and he half-expected her to turn into the cloud of molecules and run away, but she just stayed there, her head falling into her folded arms.

Pyro's first thought was to run back to his room before someone showed up and yelled at him for making Ashes cry. It was amusing, considering he'd been trying to get her to cry since first meeting her, just to get some kind of a rise out of her. But now that she was sitting right there, her entire body heaving with weeping sobs, he couldn't move for some reason.

It took a few moments of John staring at her, trying to convince himself to return to his room, when he noticed the trembling of her shoulders wasn't coming from her attempts to keep from crying, but from the cold. For some reason, that realization grounded him there even more.

Since when had he developed a conscience, he wanted to know with a dry anger, taking a tentative step forward.

"You're getting more worked up about this than you should," he told her gruffly, scratching uncomfortably at the would-be stubble on his face. "She was only here what, a week?"

Ashes didn't reply, looking away. She said something and he nearly didn't hear, slumping even more. Taking a few minutes longer, his brain finally caught up with him.

'_They always leave me…and they never come back.'_

John glanced down at her grimly and then, uncomfortably, sat down. Not knowing what else to do, he reached out and patted her awkwardly on the back. He'd never voluntarily gone near the girl, but touching her was even more discomfiting. It made him remember she was actually a person beneath the psychosis and timidity.

She stopped crying minutes later, returning to her silent and stoic personality, but she continued to shake with emotion. Pyro wasn't even sure what else he was supposed to do, although he quickly withdrew his hand once she seemed to calm down. As far as he was concerned, he'd done his humanitarian act for the night.

He didn't know why he sat with her until she fell asleep hours later, but when he realized what he'd done he was standing and checking about, wondering if anyone saw him.

He didn't feel guilty leaving her lying in the stairway and hurrying back to his room.

* * *

TBC 


	19. Volume Two: November 8, 2000 Part One

_**Smoke and Mirrors**  
**by ErtheChilde**_

_**AN: Sorry for the way long wait guys; life's been...interesting. **_

* * *

_Chapter Nineteen:_

The next morning came all too quickly for John's liking, and he spent a good majority of his first classes wishing he hadn't spent two hours of precious sleep consoling the twitchy, introverted frog to sleep. If she ever mentioned it to anyone, he would rip her apart piece by atomized piece.

Study hall seemed somehow subdued to him that morning, even though the mindless chatter was probably louder and fueled with the gossip of what had happened with Rogue and Logan two nights earlier. Both were notably absent, something which was being commented on loudly by Jubilee three desks down; Pyro had the distinct idea he was probably, along with Ashes, the only one who knew what had really happened.

He yawned ostensibly, noting with almost peevish satisfaction that the aforementioned molecular manipulator seemed just as tired as he was; either that or she was on some strong drugs, because she couldn't even concentrate on the whatever book she was reading in her study-hall desk. She sat hunched over her desk, a frown on her lips. Contrary to his usual concentrated ignoring of her, he found himself taking much more of a marked interest in his private perusal. She had – to his surprise considering how upset she had been the night before – come to class on time as usual. However there was a marked difference in her behavior – the way she carried herself, although still defensive, seemed to lack the usual fervor. In fact, she actually appeared not to notice the other students.

She tensed, as though she felt his stare, and he glowered at her, half for being caught and half to send her the message that he wasn't impressed with what had happened the night before. He knew she wasn't a mind-reader, but she might as well have been; her two-toned stare always made him think she knew all of the skeletons hidden in his closet just by looking at him.

She quickly looked back down at her book, almost like he'd physically hit her.

Really, the shyness was getting annoying now, he thought hotly as he glanced back down at the half done package of math problems. They were three days overdue and scratched to pieces by pencil marks and wayward eraser shavings.

Storm was so not going to accept this shit.

He shrugged more to an invisible audience than anyone else; he didn't see where he should care. None of the teachers ever thought he could do any better than this, so why bother trying to prove them wrong?

There was a loud slam which made everyone look up, including Pyro; the whisperings started again, fueled by new matter as DB stalked inside. He was surprised that she hadn't pulled her usual illusionary stunts to get in or loudly made a mocking excuse as to why she was late, the way she usually did. He was even more surprised when she paused slightly, looking for a place to sit and, with a resigned sigh and roll of her eyes, she plopped down into the empty seat next to him and set her chin determinedly on her arms.

"You're still in me bad books," she informed him matter-of-factly, but distinctly without the note of dangerous malice she'd been using towards him of late.

It was all she said. With a loud huff, she let a stream up air blow upward into her bangs and focused grimly on the front of the room.

Pretending her presence wasn't the least bit attention-grabbing, Pyro busied himself with looking like he was actually wrestling with the mathematical nonsense while scrutinizing every visible part of her expression. The burn marks or scars or whatever had been on her face were quickly beginning to fade, which – and he felt disgustingly shallow in thinking this – he wasn't sure he liked because the scars had given her a more mature, dangerous look that was incredibly sexy.

He made a mental note to never tell her this. Ever.

He wondered when she had gotten back from wherever she was, especially so moody and resentful; using basic logic he figured she had just come from a little sit-down with the professor and just been read the proverbial riot act. He could understand why – even someone as desensitized as he was could figure out what the pallor of her skin and dark circles under her eyes meant. He'd seen the same look on his father's face quite a few times growing up.

Whatever had happened, though, had apparently fixed something between him and her. She had, in fact, sat with him, something she had been avoiding doing since their little tiff, and she had yet to yell at him. There was significantly less tension between them.

As curious as he was about what her deal was, the memory of how things had come out the last time he took an interest kept him from worrying at it; she'd tell him when she told him, it was that simple, the still healing bruise on his cheek reminded him.

Someone, however, seemed not to understand this newly formed Universal Law of Daleigh, he realized after a full fifteen minutes of his determined pretending that he wasn't interested. Although the stare wasn't directed at him, he still felt it more keenly than even Storm's usual chilled glare.

Ashes' eyes were trained pointedly at DB – it wasn't as though she was trying to give the feeling of being watchful, trying to attract DB's attention – it was more like she didn't exactly know where else to look.

Pyro's interest in the situation took a decided turn for the worse, his recently made resolution not to interfere being tested viciously. He almost choked out loud when he realized that Ashes wasn't even paying attention to her work any longer, merely watching DB with an expression of someone trying to solve a non-linear equation without the proper proofs – and he was really out of it if he was using his math homework to find euphemisms.

The rest of study hall resulted in a whole lot of nothing to show for all three of them, and Pyro wasn't the only one to notice it. Apparently there was a memo somewhere about when the resident genius stopped doing her homework to stare intently at someone that the world was coming to an end. Suddenly everyone was watching the three of them and Pyro was acutely aware that he didn't like the attention as much as he usually would have.

Apparently Storm realized that the whole concept of 'study hall' was futile at this point – or maybe she had enough on her mind right now – but she told everyone that they were free to go and get ready for their next classes. Immediately, John jumped up, settling on the end of his desk casually and brought out the lighter, trying to pull of the would-be-casual air to put himself at ease. Neither of the girls moved from their positions at opposite ends of the classroom. They alone remained motionless as the gossiping masses streamed into the endless throng of motion; they might have stayed alone like that if the wonder boy himself hadn't decided to hang back, looking doubtful.

He stood to the side, out of place in their little world but somehow belonging just as much; he glanced doubtfully from DB to Ash, and settled for a cool glance towards Pyro, before looking back at Ash. After a hesitant moment, he reached forward and put a hand on her shoulder. Pyro was somewhat cheered at the fact that the timid girl flinched even when the teen with the Leave It To Beaver Complex came near her.

"You alright?"

She didn't answer, still watching DB, who was doing a masterfully artful job of ignoring them all and just sitting there. He could hear the sound of her biting her nails within the recesses over arms, the sound dulled and almost unintelligible from the din outside of the study hall. Storm was approaching them slowly, like was about to interfere but wanted to give them ample time to resolve their differences in the span of six seconds that it was going to take her to get to them.

"Why would you care?" Pyro asked, wanting to speed up the process.

"Wasn't talking to you."

Stare matched glare as the ever-present testosterone-off ensued.

"She doesn't talk to people. What makes you think she'll talk to you?"

"'Cause I'm not an asshole like you."

"Guess you don't want to hear that she's said more to this asshole than she's ever said to you," Pyro grinned, tongue between his teeth in a sneer of victory; it was amusing how paradoxical it was, all things considered. he'd never thought he'd be having a contest with Bobby Drake over the interests of the Quebecoise.

"Maybe in your dreams."

Pyro snorted, leaning back. "Not really – then again only someone who's completely devoid of, ahem, experience, would say something as immature as that. Doesn't really help that your girlfriend decided you were such a loser and split. Not a very good track record, huh, Bobby?"

Bobby moved as though to punch him, but Ashes grabbed hold of him and held him back, at the same time that DB stood up, glaring and snapped, "John, just shut the hell up. You don't know what you're on about."

It was the first thing she'd said to him in ages and it was this alone which made him clamp his mouth shut. Even if he wanted to say something, the need was destroyed a minute later when Bobby, eyes flashing, snapped at DB, "What's wrong – guilty yet?"

Surprise was John's best friend lately, it seemed, because DB's eyes widened in almost child-like apprehension and she swiveled about, gaping at Ashes in complete bewilderment; even her voice was mere disbelief when she hissed accusatorily, "Ye told him?"

Far from the expectation of Ashes to turn into the swirling mass of molecules, she stood her ground, even as her knees shook and her lips trembled. "'E 'ad a right to know."

"Know what?" Now Pyro was angry; it appeared he was the only person here that didn't understand what was going on and such a situation was never a good sign.

If Bobby had looked like he wanted to hurt Pyro before, it was nothing to the way DB was staring at Ashes at that moment. Her fists were clenched and the area around her simmered angrily to suit her emotions. "Yer an insane hoor, ye know that? Gettin' into things ye don' understand and making it all go arseways. It's no wonder you're such a complete muck-up at life." She inhaled deeply, and the air around her cleared, before she fixed her gaze on Bobby. "And you, Drake, shove off and stop trying to be every girl's blood Knight in Shinin' armour. I'll get your girlfriend back and make things right. Christ, I liked you better when you didn't dust yer attitude off yer shoulder. It's worse than John's."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she had flipped him off and already stalked away. "Screw off!"

The three remaining students were left to deal with the well-meaning and annoying Storm.

(-)

"I just don't get it – how did things get so completely fucked?" Daleigh moaned into her pillow, trying without success to smother herself.

"Besides hitting the happy juice hard and letting it take over your already seriously deranged personality?" Tabby's voice was muffled through the cotton of the cushion, but imploringly sarcastic all the same. Daleigh moaned in response, which made Tabby snort. "I'd blame it on hormones, but you've never been like this before…"

There was a pause that was not so much hesitant as deliberating.

"B'fore what?" Daleigh grumbled, releasing the pillow and glancing up at her best friend.

"Before you started being enemies with benefits with John," Tabitha stated finally with a shrug that was as unapologetic as it came. "It's definitely put you off your game."

Daleigh said nothing, not moving to deny or confirm the blonde's statement, her brain momentarily disconnected from her body. It really didn't seem surprising that Tabby knew and it almost didn't matter how her friend had found out. She was glad she didn't have to ask about it, because the answer presented itself a moment later.

"Come on, babes, I'm the queen of underhanded affairs," Tabby told her with an air of pride and condescension which wasn't really as annoying as it usually would have been. "You come back from 'training' sessions looking thoroughly kissed? Unless you're doing intense PDA with Scott or the professor –"

" – Tabby, 'at's disgusting!" Daleigh couldn't help protesting, revulsion bubbling up within her.

" – you had to be meeting with your secret boyfriend."

Daleigh made a noise of disgust, her inner crises momentarily averted as the superficiality of her situation dawned on her. Distastefully she muttered, "Boyfriend? Haven't we come up with a better word than that?"

"Partner?" Tabby suggested. "Paramour? Secret lover?"

"I'm not gay, I'm not French and the last time I checked, secret lover involves actually liking the person. Which I don't. And who said it was – ?"

"Well you've got something – and the only guy you have enough contact with to merit some kind of relationship that isn't hung up on some other chick is John – though what you see in him I do not get. He must have one hell of a set of lips to get away with being such a jerk and still get sloppy kissing privileges."

Daleigh all of a sudden wanted to pout like a child who hadn't managed to convince her parents to take her for an ice cream cone. The levity of the situation seemed absurd in the wake of the events of the past few weeks, but still she couldn't help liking the feeling – even if it was causing her more annoyance than she ever would have attributed to it. Here she was –in the midst of a sanity crisis, in the bad books of even the good kids and ever-optimistic teachers – spending time worrying about a 'thing' that was never supposed to have been a thing.

And the way Tabby was hinting was suggesting something she didn't want to think of.

"It's just stress relief," Daleigh told her point blank, straightening up and pretending as though it was the most normal thing in the world. It should have been, considering who she was talking to. The 'it's just sex' approach to life was a patented Tabitha Smith styling which she had already used on half the boys at school and a good eighth of the girls; there was no reason it shouldn't work right then.

"Ah huh."

Except for the fact that it wasn't and Tabby knew it just as well as Daleigh did.

"It is!"

"And that's why you were such a bitch to Rogue, right?" Tabby commented, jumping back so that she was lying on Daleigh's bed. She nestled herself comfortably into the pillow-less bed, a wicked grin threatening as she arched her eyebrows meaningfully at the Irish teen. "Because you couldn't possibly be overcompensating about being all mushy with John instead of verbally abusing the hell out of him for the last six months – "

"There's no mush involved and it's only been three."

"And why would you be keeping track if you really didn't care about it?"

Tabby's question visibly shook her and Daleigh opened her mouth to respond but then found that she couldn't. It was a fair point, and that's what annoyed her; Daleigh didn't like being out talked – she liked being out-thought even less. She decided to focus on that rather than worry about the enigma that was John and his relation to all the things that were going intently away from the direction of 'right' in the past few weeks. Crossing her arms, she shrugged at Tabby, "So whose psych-homework are you stealing that you know all this?"

Tabby laughed, the issue immediately forgotten. "De Costa. He wanted to rehearse his oral presentation in front of me. He was just getting to Freudian dynamics before I got bored and, well, you know." She grinned.

Daleigh scowled. "Fucking Freud. Always messin' things up for me." Tabby glanced at her askance. "Ne'er mind. Listen, I've got to go. Don't wait up."

"You going to find John for some make up – ?"

"Goodbye, Tabitha," Daleigh grunted, closing the door on her without waiting to hear the end of the sentence.

She really didn't need to go anywhere; it was just a continual attempt on the part of her subconscious to work of some amount of tension which had amassed without having to go look for the aforementioned pyrokinetic and work it off in a much more interesting manner.

By now she was used to the odd looks she got from people and the glare from Bobby who was sitting forlornly on the couch in the study area, but she'd ceased caring. All of the attention just rolled off her shoulders, but she couldn't help the sudden desperate craving for nicotine.

It was just occurring to her to hike down to the corner store on the outskirts of the Xavier property, when she noticed something from the corner of her eye and needed to stop.

The room which had been bequeathed to Rogue's hulking friend was closed tightly, which was odd because she knew as everyone else did that Logan rarely spent time in the place. He preferred to roam around the grounds watching the kids with a would-be bored expression, or down in the labs doing whatever test Jean Grey came up with to subject him to. He'd been avoiding the place especially since Rogue had disappeared, Daleigh though uncomfortably.

That the door was shut at the moment suggested Logan was inside – she could hear voices to confirm her beliefs as well. But the thing that really intrigued her was when she all of a sudden saw a colorless cloud descend from the ceiling and sift beneath the door.

She'd have recognized the molecular cloud anywhere, and even in her anger towards the younger mutant, Daleigh's curiosity was not to be averted. Without thinking, she had crept forward and leaned close to the door with a frown of concentration on her face. It had to be interesting or important if even shy Ashlynn Richard was breaking laws to hear what was going on inside.

Storm's voice was muffled by the thick wood and filled with imploring. "Fight with us."

"Fight with you?" snarled Logan's usual rough growl, "Join the team? Be an X-Man? Who do you think you are? You're a mutant. The world' full of people who hate and fear you and you're wasting your time trying to protect them. I've got better things to do. You know, Magneto's right. A war is coming. You sure you're on the right side?"

Who was this Magento person they were talking about? What about a war? Daleigh pressed herself closer to the door. She had a feeling if she wanted to, she's be able to use her illusions to help her into the room, but the professor would definitely notice her then, if he hadn't already. And she was already pushing it.

"At least I've chosen a side."

Storm's words were hollow, petty, but somehow, they struck a chord in Daleigh that echoed from somewhere long forgotten. Somehow she knew that tugging the strings of the unsolvable past she had; something must have happened back then, something monumental like this. Had there been something she'd done, something she'd needed to make a choice to?

Was it the choice that had caused her to block out the past the way she had?

The voices were gone now; she figured that they had probably left through the other door, towards the mansion entrance. Ash was better positioned to go after them and actually hear what they were saying; even if she doubled back around and crept into the foyer, they'd notice her and she still wouldn't know how everything might turn out.

Frowning, she sat back against the door, crossing her arms around her knees. What was the point, anyhow? Just what was she supposed to do with anything she gleaned from the conversation? They were obviously deliberating about finding Rogue – was she supposed to go demand that they let her join them? Fuck's sakes, she didn't even like the bird! But she had told Bobby she would do something – had that just been talk, just the way she was?

She pressed her palms against her eyes, allowing pinpricks of light to assault her from everywhere.

'_Fallacy. You'll not cross me again.'_

"Shut the fuck up," she growled, holding her head by her temples. She was not in the mood for another melt-down, psycho-analysis opportunity. That was what had put her in this mess in the beginning. As far as she was concerned at this point in time, if she never remembered what had happened to her, it would be too soon.

A commotion somewhere far off startled her and she glanced up, worried; before she could even wonder about it, the door she was leaning on was pulled open and she fell backwards, nearly hitting her head on the wheels of the professor's chair. She'd never really understood the term 'have the blood drain from your face' before, but right at that moment Daleigh managed to get the gist of it.

"Daleigh, please come in. There's something I would like to discuss with you."

'Shite,' she thought. He would have known she was there all the time then.

(-)

"You said he was after me," Logan's voice was a hard, resigned growl that exuded blame; Ashlynn felt herself, for the first time, sympathizing with the rough stranger.

"I made a terrible mistake. His helmet was somehow designed to block my telepathy. I couldn't see what he was after until it was too late."

The sound of someone walking towards the door nearly made Ashlynn panic; they didn't know that she was eavesdropping outside – not even the professor. She had remembered him telling her he couldn't sense her thoughts when she was the amorphous cloud of molecules, and so that was how she had positioned herself outside the door of Logan's room. If someone came through the door, though, they would know immediately what she was doing and she would be in trouble.

The free, floating feeling that usually accompanied her change tempted her to fly freely about in her molecular cloud, but it was too important to hear what the professors and Logan were talking about. She needed a lead on finding Rogue. She'd decided this roundabout the time that she had unwittingly told Bobby that Rogue was missing; if the professor's people couldn't find her, maybe Ashlynn could. If she knew more, she could find her…the professor said she was capable of doing whatever she put her mind to, so if she tried this, then maybe…

"Where are you going?" Storm's voice was imploring, hard-edged and judging.

"I'm going to find her," was the staunch reply.

The professor sounded as curious, albeit more skeptical, than Ashlynn. "How?"

"The traditional way – look."

Ashlynn was scared that he might notice her as he wrenched open the door and stalked out, passing directly beneath where her cloudy form hid within the shadows. Storm followed him and Ashlynn knew she wouldn't be able to hear the rest of the conversation if she didn't follow; they might reveal something important and so as soon as it was safe and she knew the professor hadn't noticed her, she returned to her normal form and hurried down the hall after Logan and Storm. She barely caught the tail-end of the conversation as she shifted behind a pillar.

"…help us," Storm was pleading. "Fight with us."

Logan whirled around, glaring down at a woman with an expression Ashlynn hadn't seen since she had been trapped in Daleigh's nightmare world. "Fight with you?" he sounded decidedly mocking, a derisive curl to his lips as he glowered down at her. "Join the team? Be an X-Man? Who do you think you are? You're a mutant. The world' full of people who hate and fear you and you're wasting your time trying to protect them. I've got better things to do."

Ashlynn's heart sank a little, wondering if that meant he wasn't going to bother looking for Rogue any longer. "You know, Magneto's right. A war is coming. You sure you're on the right side?"

Storm squared her shoulders defensively as he went on and Ashlynn couldn't help but feel some kind of respect for both the adults there. "At least I've chosen a side."

Logan ignored her, his eyes instead flicking past her to where Ashlynn was hidden. She froze, but he didn't say anything, instead turning to head towards the main exit and wrenching the door open.

To everyone's surprise, there was someone behind it and Ashlynn nearly cried out when she recognized the man. She had seen him before on television, impeccably dressed and confident as he spouted his belief in the mutant registration act, a giant in his world. Now, as he supported his weight leaning against the door, it was hard to distinguish Senator Kelly from this weakened specimen before them.

A momentary silence was more of a labored gasp for breath, before he finally managed to speak.

"I'm looking for Dr. Jean Grey," he rasped, his voice sounding as though water was bubbling through his throat. Seconds later, he collapsed into Logan's arms.

For a moment there was stunned silence, and then she heard the professor's voice in her head, echoing with a stern frequency that nearly made her jump. _'Ashlynn, I would like you to accompany Storm to the medical bay until Jean and I can make it there." _She felt her heart clench that he'd realized she was eavesdropping, but he made no mention of it.

Apparently she wasn't the only one who had been given the telepathic order, because Storm was already moving towards the unconscious man in Logan's arms and looking about for Ashlynn. Questions exploded in her mind, most of them relevant to the senator's condition; had he always been a mutant and this was just becoming unmanageable now? It wasn't unheard of for dictators and leaders of public antagonism to single out ethnic groups who embodied the very features they didn't appreciate in their own lives. No, he was too weak looking and his entire frame screamed in horror and shock; if she were to suggest her thoughts on it, he looked like he was about to go into hypovolaemic shock – except there was a total lack of external burns, bleeding or any other sign of trauma.

Confused or not, Ashlynn did as she was told. The senator's body was drenched, in what Ashlynn had first believed to be perspiration, but realized a second to late was voluminous amounts of water that were streaming from his pores; it stank like a mixture of fish and peroxide, but Ashlynn was determined to make up for her snooping and helped Storm carry the unconscious senator towards the elevator. .

Her teacher said nothing to her the entire way down and for a moment Ashlynn wondered if she was angry with her; when the weather witch smiled at her comfortingly, though, her worries were put to rest, if only temporarily.

Dr. Grey wasn't in the lab and so it was Storm and Ashlynn who needed to set up the equipment and cot for the senator; he had begun to stir, the sleep slowly wearing off. Businesslike, as she had seen Dr. Grey do many times before, Ashlynn divested the man while Storm got him comfortable on the cot; without needing any preamble, she had searched out the sensory equipment and carted over a heart monitor.

Feeling eyes upon her back, she glanced back at Storm who was gazing at her with a look of amazement. When she realized her stare was being returned, the teacher remarked, "Ever think of becoming a doctor?"

"_Non_," Ashlynn replied with such immediacy that Storm almost flinched. Realizing the vigor in her tone, she stilled her breathing. She stepped away from all of the equipment and rubbed her arms self-consciously, as though she was cold "I just…I 'ad so many tests in dis lab dat I know…I know where things are."

Storm's entire demeanor exuded questioning, but Ashlynn ignored it long enough that the awakening senator drew their attention. At the same time, the door of the lab slid open and Professor Xavier wheeled in, followed by the X-men and Logan. Ashlynn's presence went unnoticed and she quickly gravitated towards a corner where she would remain as unobtrusive as possible.

"Senator Kelly?" the professor sounded tentative, but firm at the same time as he positioned himself behind the medical table which the senator lay on, "I'm Professor Charles Xavier."

The man didn't appear to hear, his consciousness more of a bodily function than a mental state; his lips trembled and his breathing remained labored, even as he managed to murmur, "I was afraid if I went to…hospital…they'd…"

"Treat you like a mutant?" even the gravity of the situation didn't disperse the irony in the statement, Ashlynn realized. "We're not what you think. Not all of us."

Kelly barely suppressed a sardonic chuckle of dissent, which sounded more like a dying whimper than anything else. "Tell that to the ones who did this to me."

Xavier lifted his hands into position, barely touching the man's temples. "Senator, I want you to try and relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

Everyone watched with bated breath as Xavier finally rested his hands on the senator's head and closed his eyes, frowning in concentration as he began to read his mind. It was only minutes later when he forcibly jerked away from the senator, looking as though he had been burned.

"My God," Xavier whispered.

* * *

TBC 


	20. Volume Two: November 8, 2000 Part Two

_**Smoke and Mirrors**  
**by ErtheChilde**_

_Grr...this is Meg's fault. Here I was contently working on my manuscript, and she calls me up saying she got ideas for Daleigh. And of course I told her to stop talking before I got back into the writing of Smoke and Mirrors and totally lost my inspiration for my book, but alas, the damage is done (although I guess for you readers it's a boon, huh?). Let's see if I can't at least finish Volume Two in the near future... _

_Advanced apologies for how short it is, but it's midterms. _

* * *

_Chapter Twenty:_

The professor excused himself from the lab moments later, the others following him, so that only Storm and Ashlynn remained. She looked doubtfully after them, wondering if she should follow along, slightly unsure of what to do as the professor had yet to tell her off for her indiscretions. Storm glanced at her, and then followed them out, standing just outside the door and speaking in a low voice to someone Ashlynn couldn't see. Maybe the professor had hung back?

There was an empty chair in the back near the monitors and, not knowing what to do, she strode over and sat down, pulling up her knees. Her gaze was drawn inexorably towards the weak form of the senator, who was still gasping and wheezing for breath across the room.

Despite the fact that this man had made a career and a name for himself in denouncing what she was, she couldn't help feel a wave of sympathy for the man. Here he was, lying prone on a cold metal table, miserable as he wondered what he was supposed to do now and how he was supposed to live with this new change. It was a completely terrifying process, she thought grimly, and he was finally learning about it first hand.

He went into another terrifying spasm of coughing, his eyes widening slightly. "Is anybody there?"

Ash tensed, glancing worryingly at the door, wondering if no one else came back if she might have to approach the man. She felt trapped, not wanting to go near him and at the same time feeling guilty, knowing that he must feel so alone. Her decision was made when Storm reappeared in the doorway, looking grim, emerging into the semi-lit lab. "Yes."

"Please don't leave me," he gasped and when Storm came closer, he grabbed her wrist. Storm's eyes widened in surprise as Kelly smiled, weak, every tensing muscle an effort. "Don't want to be alone."

"All right."

Ashlynn swallowed, a painful lump in her throat as she watched this; she felt infinitely more in the wrong for having not come to the aid of the invalid. At the same time, she noticed as Storm did, the senator's intense sweating had increased, siphoning out of him the way it might if it were in a sieve.

His eyes were wild and frantic as he panted painfully, "Do you hate normal people?"

It was a loaded question, one even Ashlynn wouldn't have been able to answer without coming out with the wrong answer. And yet Storm managed to answer it so easily, in a way that made Ashlynn wonder if maybe there wasn't something wrong with the way she felt within. "Sometimes."

"Why?"

"I suppose…I'm afraid of them."

Kelly appeared to think on this, a strange gurgling sound coming from within his body.

"Well…I think you've got one less person to be afraid of."

Without warning, there was a massive explosion of sound as Kelly's body melted, his every cell turning into water that washed over the medical table and onto the lab floor. Storm jumped back and Ashlynn couldn't hold onto the scream of terror that erupted from her throat.

Her heart beat angrily against her rib cage as she stared at the spot where Kelly had been lying not moments before; her brain didn't want to make sense of it, but she knew he was dead. Knew that he was gone and that she had watched and she hadn't done anything.

The bile rose in her throat and before she could do anything, she jerked forward and retched onto the floor. There was a constricting feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with disgust; somehow…somehow she knew that whoever had Rogue right now, they were going to do this to more people. They were going to kill people, maybe even Rogue…what if they had already done this to Rogue?

There was a hand on her shoulder and she looked up, eyes locking with the shaken Storm. For the first time, she didn't flinch on contact. "Are you alright?"

"_Je pense_."

Storm nodded, resolute. "Ashlynn, I want you to go to your dorm room now. We're going to get to the bottom of this, but while we're gone you need to help keep the younger students in order." Ashlynn opened here mouth to protest, but Storm wouldn't listen. "No buts; things just got a lot more dangerous. You need to stay here, alright?"

Ashlynn didn't answer, trying to think up a way out of it.

"Promise me."

She bit her lips, and then nodded. She paused on her way to the door, glancing back to the watery remains of the senator. "What about…?"

"I will take care of it," was the short reply.

All she could do was nod in acquiescence and leave the room; Storm followed her, probably as a means of making sure she was going where she had promised to go. The walk towards the elevator took longer than it usually should have, but it didn't matter because her mind was void of thought. They were going to go after Rogue, they were going to make it all better, things would go back to the way they were before…!

Storm pressed the button leading to the first floor and left the elevator, sending Ashlynn a comforting glance before the doors opened.

Far from what it was meant to do, the look convinced Ashlynn in a heart beat that they wouldn't be able to do it. She didn't trust them, the X-men, any longer. Logan had the right idea, of just going in and getting the job done, instead of all the subterfuge. There had been enough messing around in the issue, she wouldn't let it happen again.

She wasn't even conscious of turning into the billions of molecules, squeezing through the cracks in the elevator door; she felt the elevator carriage slide upward towards the first floor, heard the cables and pulleys grind in movement. Floating downward in the darkness, she was a whirlwind of movement flittering down to the sublevels where she knew the professor would bring anyone when they left. The fact that she had willingly used her powers more today than in the two months she had been at the institute somehow didn't bother her as much as it normally would have – in fact she was more worried at the fact she might be expelled and sent back to St-Adele.

But then, if she didn't do anything, she'd end up there anyhow. And so, there really was nothing to lose.

(-)

Daleigh had never actually twiddled her thumbs before.

It was a really odd process, she decided, frowning at her thumbs in annoyance. She's once heard someone say that if you could twiddle your right thumb in the opposite direction as your left thumb that you were essentially able to separate the two hemispheres of your brain.

So far, her brain hemispheres seemed to be exactly the same as every other person out there, because she wasn't succeeding.

The professor's living room was remarkable empty and it occurred to her just then what an extraordinary amount of presence the small, wheelchair bound man tended to give off. Without him in the room, it was just another space that felt like a prison. She didn't know why he'd asked her to wait here for him, nor did she know why she had actually done it.

The past few hours had in some bizarre way messed with Daleigh's behavior – in a way she was praying was temporary, because the constant blind listening was turning her into someone she wasn't. She wondered vaguely if Ash had been caught, and then a second later reminded herself that she didn't care and it didn't matter.

She wished she had gone looking for John instead of for trouble.

Her thumb-twiddling was interrupted as the professor wheeled in, followed by the X-men and Logan, all of whom were looking grave. There was no sign of Storm or Ash. Opening her mouth to ask what in the seven hells was going on, she instantly shut up at the look in the professor's eyes as he took his place near his desk and folded his hands together.

There was a pause and he finally looked up, peering at everyone in the room. "The senator's mind has shown me the card that Magneto intends to play. It's a machine that appears to cause mutation in humans."

"But the mutation is unnatural," Jean countered, a hard edge to her face that Daleigh hadn't ever seen before. It made the redheaded professor seem almost dangerous for a moment. It was a state mirrored by Logan, who continued to pace angrily. "Kelly's body is rejecting it. His cells began to break down almost immediately."

"What effect does it have on mutants?" Scott asked.

Xavier shook his head, pensive. When Daleigh tried to ask him what was going on, his thoughts told her rather pointedly to wait. "There appears to be none. But I fear it will do serious harm to any normal person."

"What does he want with Rogue?" Logan demanded, the over-protectiveness that he usually displayed for the absent girl shining through. His caught Daleigh's eye and she might have imagined it, but there was a gleam of threatening in it that she didn't like.

Annoyed, she countered it; she may have been acting different from usual, but she wasn't about to let some walking He-Man treat her like this was all her fault. Sure, some of it was, but she wasn't going to take all the blame….bloody bastards…

"I don't know."

No one else seemed confused at this statement, but Daleigh felt like her mind had suddenly been put into a blender and set on high; the amount of information being thrown at her was staggering, and she wondered what any of it had to do with her. Most of the other students would have been sent to their rooms by now – why was she still sitting here? Why had Xavier demanded she wait here?"

Logan paced restlessly; his agitation was contagious and she wished she hadn't chosen the most confining corner of the living room to sit in. By the door, Scott frowned, the entire effect giving a rather closed, puckered look to his face. "Wait a second – you said this machine draws its power from Magneto and that it weakened him."

"Yes…in fact, it nearly killed him," Xavier nodded.

At the same time as everyone else, even though she was a newcomer into the discussion, it occurred to Daleigh what was going to happen. When Logan voiced it, she felt an impending sense of guilt rain down on her like a ton of anvils.

"He's gonna transfer his power to Rogue…and use her to power the machine."

"And she's gonna die," Daleigh added tonelessly. Her voice, quieter than usual, still managed to elicit surprised reactions from everyone else. They had forgotten she was there.

Xavier inclined his head, as though accepting it as a fact. "I'm going to find Rogue. Scott, ready the Blackbird. Jean get him a uniform – one for Daleigh as well."

"What?" Daleigh cried, astonished, at the same time that Scott demanded, "Wait…they're not coming with us, are they?"

'_We will need your abilities especially, in case the circumstances grow out of our control,' _he told her mentally, calming her suddenly doubtful mind. _'Mutants nationwide have enough discrimination to deal with – if we should be brought into a public area where civilians become involved, your ability to gloss over the place with an illusion will be particularly well placed. Don't worry, the situation will be far from dangerous to you – you will remain hidden should anything happen to you.'_

She didn't even try to refute any of this, even with her mind a whirlwind of thought and hesitation. The professor in the meantime was nodding at Scott, a crisp movement that dared questions. "Yes."

"Sir, I'm sorry, but he'll endanger the mission. He'll – "

"Hey, I wasn't the one who tore the train station a new sun roof, pal," Logan interrupted fiercely, seeming as though the last thing he wanted to do was go on a mission with Scott Summers.

"No, you were the one who stabbed Rogue through the chest."

"Whoa, what?" Daleigh interjected, this being the first she had heard of anything of the sort. Nobody paid her any notice as Jean tried to pacify the two men.

"Scott – "

"Look," Logan snapped, "why don't you take your little mission and – "

The living room door slammed open and Storm appeared, out of breath. "Senator Kelly is dead."

Instantly, the tumultuous argument turned into stunned silence and a resigned dread. Daleigh's mouth went dry. While Scott and Logan exchanged contempt glares, the others watched the professor askance. It was almost as though he aged within the span of seconds. Even wheeling out of the room he appeared to be resigned, heavier than usual. "I'm going to find her." He looked from Cyclops to Logan. "Settle this."

The quiet once he left was almost deafening.

Finally, Jean moved, motioning for Daleigh to follow her. "Come on, we've got to get you a uniform." Storm moved to protest, but Jean held up her hand. "It's the professor's orders, not mine."

"But she's only a child!" Storm cried and instant resentment of the woman, mixed with the long forgotten notion of someone caring bubbled up within Daleigh.

"'Scuse you, I'm fifteen – note the 'teen' part," she mouthed off, only realizing just as the words left her mouth how juvenile they sounded. "Anyhow, I got a personal stake in this issue so I'm goin' whether you likes it or not. Just try an stop me."

No one appreciated her outburst, but it wasn't like they could do anything, Daleigh decided standing up to follow. Something occurred to her and she turned around, facing the group of people that didn't want her with them and put her hands on her hips. "By the by, who's stayin' wit' the grunts if all o' us are goin'?"

"We'll take care of that, Daleigh," Storm replied weaily.

"'Cause I was just thinking, if the Uber-Canuck 'ere went and told 'em what for, they'd all be shakin' in their beds on not moving enough to even fart 'til everyone gets back." She purposefully used the word 'til' instead of 'if'. Logan sent her a dirty look and she grinned unpleasantly, flashing him a peace sign. "Cheers."

This time she accompanied Jean from the room, down the hall and into the elevator to the lower levels. Her stomach was doing flips in apprehension as it finally, really and truly, dawned on her that she was coming down here not for another training session, but because she was going on a mission with the X-men. She was going to be an X-man…woman. Uniform and everything.

"It's really not that glamorous," Jean told her, a voice laced with warning and some amount of amusement that instantly had Daleigh feeling stupid for her feelings. She didn't like feeling stupid, and it was especially bad when someone else was pointing out her faults.; someone else that happened to be able to read minds and intrude in her thoughts, too.

"Stay out of me head," she told Jean brashly, leering, "I've got enough confusion in there with just my voice, forget yours."

"I'm sorry," Jean told her seriously, "but your thoughts do tend to shout."

Daleigh rolled her eyes as they rounded a corner. Somehow, that didn't surprise her. Everything about her was loud and abrasive, why should the quietest and innermost workings of her being be any different?

Down the hall, a door which had always been closed when Daleigh had her training sessions had opened slowly, revealing a sprawling figure on an immense catwalk. Alarms and lights flickered, making grotesque shadows appear on the walls. Frowning, Daleigh cocked her head to one side. "Wha's 'at in there?"

Jean noticed just then and inhaled sharply, already running towards the room at the far end. "Professor!"

(-)

Seeing Logan pace up and down in front of them, looking like he had no idea what to say was actually a very amusing sight, in Pyro's mind.

It was too bad that it was two in the morning and he had been roused from a perfectly dreamless sleep to witness it.

"All of you better listen up," the wolverine growled as he stalked the floor of the living room, "I'm sure it's happened that you've had to be left alone for a few hours without a babysitter, and you know what's supposed to happen in an emergency, so I ain't gonna waste my breath tellin' you what to do, cause I don't know and mostly I just don't give a damn. The point is, for a few hours this school is under your control and you'd better guard it with your lives."

"Why?" Pyro couldn't help asking, not impressed with what was going on. The other students were too tired to groan in annoyance at the usual antics, which was a small victory for him. "It's not going to up and go anywhere, is it?"

Logan tensed at his words, and turned to focus on him; a glint of recognition shone in his eyes which confused Pyro, but it was gone an instant later when Logan strode forward and thrust his arm out in front of his face. A lone sheath of metal slid upwards until it was almost touching Pyro's Adam's apple. When he swallowed nervously, he felt the pointed tip make a harmless dent in his skin. "Because I'll definitely be coming back, whatever way this turns out. So don't screw around with me when I give you an order. Got it, kid?"

He wanted to nod but had a feeling it would be the last movement of acquiescence he would ever make and settled on staring Logan straight in the eye and pulling up the cockiest smirk he could manage answering, "Loud and clear."

"Good," Logan snapped. He rounded on the other teens, none of whom seemed to have the balls that Pyro did. "Any other questions?"

A flurry of hastily shaking heads and murmurs of dissent were the only reply he got, and it seemed he was satisfied with it. A second later, though, Logan turned around and fixed Pyro squarely in the eyes. "Where's the frog?"

Momentarily confused, Pyro glanced around, realizing that, indeed, Ashes was missing. So was DB for that matter; every other member of the high school classes were there though. "Hanging out with DB maybe? How should I know?"

"She's one of your friends, isn't she?"

Pyro couldn't help the snort of amusement. "Yeah, in a parallel universe."

Logan glowered at him. "If you weren't a lightweight I'd wipe that smirk off your face." Not hanging around to deal with Pyro's outraged outburst, he stalked towards the door, yelling over his shoulder, "Take care of the place. We'll be back in the morning…maybe."

The 'maybe' instantly had the seniors worrying and even Bobby asked Pete if maybe they should go ahead and get a Someone McTaggert on the phone in case.

Pyro let the conversation drift to the back of his mind, instead falling back on one of the cushy chairs near where Jones was sitting.

His gut was telling him that there was trouble going on.

For once – and his feelings were mixed about this – he wasn't part of it.

* * *

TBC 


	21. Volume Two: November 9, 2000 Part One

**Smoke and Mirrors**  
**by ErtheChilde**

**YAY! Meg's back to editing for me glomps Meg. Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One:

The uniform was significantly different from the gym clothes Daleigh usually wore in her training sessions, lightweight at the same time as adding a distinct mass to her bodyEvenlacking the freedom her wife beater and trainers usually provided, the uniform was surprisingly flexible and moulded to herform as though custom made. Still, it was a little warm for merely hanging out in the planning room. She wasn't the only one to be unaccustomed to the new suit; Logan kept prodding and worrying at the collar of his own, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden constricting textile around his muscular form.

She barely toned down the brazen bubble of laughter that threatened to escape to a derisive snort before Logan could glower at her. The term 'if looks could kill' came to mind for the first time in her life, and she had a feeling that given the incentive, the easily riled Canuck could probably pull it off.

"Somethin' about me you find interesting?" he grunted at her.

Deciding she would laugh too much if she went into details, she merely managed an, "Uh-huh."

"Wanna tell me?"

"Uh-uh."

"Then stop staring at me before I rip your eyes out."

"Logan!" Jean groaned in protest.

Daleigh smirked at the perceived threat as though it were merely a joke. "You know, I think you've got a lot of anger bottled up inside you. I recommend activities that involve fire or pointy objects."

Instead of replying to that, Logan merely snorted and turned away, apparently not in the mood to verbally spar with anyone. She thought for a moment she saw the beginnings of a smirk on his face, but it could have just been the way the interior of the place was lit. Once again, the instructors ignored her presence. Daleigh was fine with this, as it gave her time to consider the situation a little more closely.

The 'planning room' was actually only an alcove fitted with technological equipment for old men to play war games, but in some way giving it the name 'planning room' made it so much more official and imposing than simply 'planning closet' or 'custodian's room' that Daleigh almost forgot they were all basically gathered in a large, hollowed-out walk-in-closet decorated with sparse furnishings that still conveyed it to be part of the mansion.

Regardless of the claustrophobia, she felt a buzz that she attributed to nerves, which was blocking the seriousness of the situation. The fact that the Professor was in an apparently vegetative state didn't bother her as much as it probably would have hours ago and the knowledge that Jean had almost willingly put herself a similar state just didn't carry any gravity.

Even as the redhead wavered every so often – frowning and putting her hand to her temple as though to tune in anindistinct high frequency that no one else could hear – Scott, Storm and Logan were bouncing various plans and strategies off one another, apparently trying very hard to keep civility in check considering the importance of the situation. All of the instructors were also dressed in the custom clothing, every suit made to cater to the specialized gifts of the wearer. Scott's usual glasses had been exchanged for a wicked looking visor, while Storm's clothes appeared to be made out some kind of fabric that wouldn't melt if exposed to lightening. Jean's…well, Daleigh couldn't think of anything Jean's uniform might enhance in the ways of telekinesis, but in the way of cleavage it was working wonders.

A sharp glare from Jean made her stop considering the others, although her grin merely became wider. Apparently Jean thought the same thing…

Between them, a three dimensional map swirled and reformed into shapes and locations, illustrating the points of the various plans that were put out and shot down just as easily.

Giddy, Daleigh couldn't focus over much on what they two guys were talking about. Instead, fascinated, she watched grainy, yet clear resolution of the images skitter across the map, ending up settling on Ellis Island and other parts of New York City with an eerie likeness.

"The UN summit is on Ellis Island, here," Scott was saying, bringing her back to the present. "Magneto will be launching his attack from the Statue of Liberty, here."

This was where Daleigh would come in; she recalled from watching the occasional television report and form the professor's schooling before he had gone unconscious, that there was a UN meeting going on, in which one of the key points of discussion would be the Mutant Registration act which the now deceased Senator Kelly had wanted to push forward. The importance of her role in keeping everything that happened that night under wraps was key, and there was a growing thrill within her at being allowed for once to lash out with as much strength she could muster to play her part.

Deep inside her, a long forgotten sensation which had been biding its time was growing restless again, putting a fire in her blood and expectation in her heart.

"He doesn't know his machine kills," Storm remarked, "and if he gives Rogue enough power – "

"He could wipe out everyone in New York," Jean finished.

From what Daleigh had heard about this Magneto person, based on the few snatches of conversation she had managed to listen in on and from a 'secret' discussion the professor had been having with Jean Grey around the time the doctor had given a speech to the government, she took the man to be a true Machiavellian in every sense of the word. And people like that, she though grimly, were the worst kind.

"We'll fly the Blackbird in here, come in around the far end of Ellis Island," Scott decided.

"What about harbour patrol – radar?" Logan asked.

It occurred to Daleigh that this probably wasn't the first time he was part of a covert mission. Either that, or he had his mind on things other than Rogue's disappearance. Personally, she was sure it had to do with the fact he had come back from the main floor looking a lot worse for the wear, grumbling over delinquent kids and mentioning the word 'frog'. Maybe Ash had been giving him trouble? It seemed unbelievable, and yet Daleigh was sure she wasn't the only one to notice a marked difference in the young Quebecoise over the past week. She was still as shy and twitchy as ever, but her demeanour had changed and brought about a stubborn determination that rivalled Daleigh's own.

Scott snorted. "If they have anything that could pick up our ship, they deserve to catch us."

"What about Magneto?"

She was somewhat surprised that she'd spoken; judging by the others askance glances, they were too. She was infinitely aware at that precise moment that she was the only so-to-speak 'rookie' coming along on this mission. Little more than a nuisance in their eyes, I suppose, she added mentally, before clearing her throat to speak up. "Well, he knows we're probably going to go after 'im. Won't he suspect and, iunno, expect us?"

The silence that met her wasn't very inspiring.

"It's a risk we have to take," Storm finally said.

It wasn't what anyone wanted to hear, but Daleigh could see the logic in it. If they didn't go based simply on chance their enemy might know they were coming, they risked being too late.

The rest of the planning session was a blur to her, mind void of distinctive thought. When they all stood to leave; she followed the adults with an air of someone not quite sure what to expect, but with every intention of making good on the opportunity that had been thrust upon her.

The Blackbird was legend at Xavier's institute; the older kids swore that kids long before them had seen the structure and there was an ongoing search to find the passageway leading to the hangar; of course the professors told them that it was nonsense, not wanting to encourage it – or maybe it was to keep the entire urban legend of a black fighter jet exactly that: a legend, in case outsiders ever got wind of it. Either way, Daleigh was thrilled when they entered the hangar at the end of the second sublevel basement, and a sleek door lowered to allow them to climb into the belly of the black beast.

"Mary, Mo'der o' God," she couldn't help whistling, stunned at the sheer opulence of material therein. "How much are you lot puttin' aside for this li'l trinket?"

Inside was sparse, so far away from the standard picture of a private jet that she couldn't help being impressed; state of the art controls and an open cockpit faced her, the back cabin closed off only by a very thin, accordion junction door which had been pushed aside. There were a few rows of chairs equipped with ejector seats and safety belts, all of which lay behind the pilot's open cockpit.

After a beat, Daleigh turned to Scott and asked seriously, "Can I fly it?"

(-)

The ball of fire bounced up into the air and then fell back, nearly into Pyro's hand. For a moment he paused to inspect it, as though his little game had in some way damaged the ever moving gaseous flame, and then snorted, tossing it back up into the air. The game was boring, but it was something to do.

Bobby had refused to let them go back to bed, insisting everyone should take a post in the house to watch in case one of the younger kids had a fucking nightmare and needed a hug. Pyro had opted for the rec. room where the only annoying brat was Jones, and he never had nightmares. Checkmate for me, he thought grimly, not even really impressed with his own reasoning.

The constant clicking of the channels switching irritated him, but he didn't say anything. Partially because he didn't want to invite conversation, partially because his teeth were gritted shut in a motion of annoyance. It figured that the one night where there were no teachers around, he had a room to himself (pretty much) and was on his way to becoming part of the couch fixtures There was no one around for him to even exchange weak insults with; Bobby was upstairs– probably gone back to bed, John thought peevishly even though he knew how serious the iceman took his responsibilities – Pete was in the living room with Sven and Harlan, who had awoken to the noise and decided to see what the commotion was Amazingly, the big softy had coerced them into a game of Crazy Eights which was keeping them out of Pyro's hair for the time being. He had to admit, although the two of them didn't have much in common, Pyro did like Pete. He was an okay guy and without the constant holier-than-thou attitude that Bobby gave off.

Or appeared to give off, in any sense, Pyro added with a frown. He was only at constant odds with himbecause of jealousy. Oh, he had no trouble admitting it; never had. And in certain cases he did like Bobby – the guy was the only one whose powers had ever measured up to his own was cool. The reality that they were total opposites – fire and ice, even in literal senses – appealed to him. DB told him once that their constant competition was just a front for a stronger friendship than he could ever have with anyone else. He'd laughed in her face, but there were nights like these when he was in a particularly contemplative mood that he figured she was right.

Still, pissing Bobby off was as fun as say, going to a football game or arguing F1 racing.

A scraping, rumbling sound interrupted his thoughts and he jumped, his heart momentarily doing one of those surprised little flip-flops. Even Jones taken his attention from the infomercial he was watching and glanced , questioningly, at Pyro, as though he had had something to do with the noise.

He didn't even bother acknowledging him with a shrug, instead leapingfrom the couch and allowing the fireball to disappear into thin air. Moving over towards the window he tried to locate the source of the noise; it was coming from the basketball court.

In fascination that he couldn't hold in, Pyro swore, watching the ground out glide back as though being operated by a conveyor belt; the sliding slab of concrete didn't stop until a gap the size of the entire court had appeared, revealing darkness beneath it. A basketball which one of the students had left lying there, jolted by the shaking ground beneath it, rolled towards the opening and then disappeared, falling into the abyss. Pyro half-expected it to bounce back up again, but in its stead, a gigantic black form appeared.

A black jet hovered before the windows for a moment, the force of it sending ripples of heated air down beneath it, propelling it away from the ground. In the darkness, it was like some kind of monster, and at the same time, the coolest thing Pyro had ever seen.

He couldn't help it.

He gaped, fascinated, watching the sleek machine slowly rise into the air, its propelling force causing the trees and gardens of the school property to bend and twist in the wind. For one second it was there, as though showing itself off – and in another second, the roar of an engine broke the silence of the night and it was gone, no more than a speck in the distance.

Pyro had learned within days of arriving at the Institute that the school was just a front; ever kid knew it – knew that if they stayed long enough and became true masters of their mutations they would be invited to become part of a special force of mutants who were supposed to protect people and go find other poor schmucks to come be students at 'Mutant High'. But he'd never actually seen the force in the flesh – or jet, as it was.

It dawned on him then that what was going on was more than simply a bureaucratic emergency that the professors needed to leave the mansion for; something was going down. Instantly, resentment welled up in him – they were leaving the kids behind to go fight for truth, justice and soccer moms?

He heard Jones behind him. "Shit."

It was a fair expression.

There was a fuss going on behind him, but he ignored it, waiting until the blackbird was completely out of sight before turning to investigate.

Speaking of the devil, he thought grimly as Bobby appeared, Tabitha and Rahne in tow, all of them looking vaguely frazzled. Well, the girls looked frazzled anyhow – the Iceman actually looked worried,

"'Sup, Iceman?" he asked, his voice lower and groggier than he had expected it to be. Oh well. That's what happened when people got woken up at ungodly hours of the night.

"Have you seen Daleigh or Ash?"

Pyro frowned, having not expected that question. "Nope. Why?"

"They're obviously missin'," Rahne deadpanned, crossing her arms.

He yawned and shrugged; he'd noticed before that the two girls were nowhere to be found in the group when they had been informed of their impending responsibilities, but he had figured it to mean that DB was still in one of her moods and told them where to get off when they interrupted her sleep and Ash – well, she was so spastic why would anyone have bothered to wake her up? Either way, it didn't really rate very high on his 'merit-a-care' list. But, just to be fair because he was not a little curious, he asked, "When was the last time anyone saw them?"

"Nine," Tabitha said, glowering at Pyro in a way that stated she thought it was his fault in a way. "I'm pretty sure DB was trying to find_you._"

"Why the hell would she be lookin' for me?" he shot back, instantly riled by the blonde. He'd never liked her and the feeling was very obviously mutual. However, despite this agreement to disagree, at the moment he was genuinely puzzled. DB hadn't exactly been breaking down doors to talk to him in the past few days. Tabitha knew this better than anyone, as she'd taken a great measure of laughing it up.

"Gee, I don't know, maybe because you're –"

"Forget why," Bobby interrupted, apparently not impressed with either of them right now. "The fact is she – they – are missing. I'm thinking Daleigh might have run off again like before. It's what she does when things get tough." Pyro opened his mouth to defend the Irish mutant, but noticing Tabitha's scrutinizing glare, settled for frowning threateningly while Bobby continued. "Ash is missing to; she's not in her room or the library or any of the usual places. Did you say anything to her?"

"Why would I say anything to her? I can't stand her."

"Exactly."

He let that one slide, turning back to the window where the jet no longer remained; he made a face. A thought occurred to him, one which was so far off the mark he should have dismissed it immediately. But he couldn't help thinking it was something DB might do…and she had always been rather persuasive when it came to Ashes, so –

No, it was stupid, he shook it off. They wouldn't have…

The window beckoned to him mockingly.

Would they…?

Not without DB either bringing him along or at least taunting him about it, he thought vaguely. And who would trust Ashes to come along with them when she could barely deal with someone patting her shoulder without literally going to pieces?

But they were nowhere to be found, Pyro reminded himself. Ashes was a creature of habit – there were few places she would be, and all of them the same. The library, her room, or the alcove under the stairs where she could be alone – all of which he knew about because on occasion he had hunted her down to torture and tease her. Where else would she be – he'd comforted her the night Bobby's high maintenance girl had taken off. She'd been so upset about being left behind…if she were anything like him and it happened again, she would probably have done something. And DB – well, DB was so unpredictable, it wasn't exactly far-fetched to think she had gone off on some X-Man joyride.

"Fucking shit!" he growled angrily, causing the others to stare at him in surprise.

"What's wro – "

"Those bitches fucking left me here, that's what!" he raged at Rahne, who uncharacteristically shrank back at the tone of his voice.

He vaulted himself angrily past the couch, eliciting a defensive snap from Jones who he accidentally kicked. Pacing back and forth, ignoring the questions from the others, he seethed, trying to think of a solution to what was going on. Damn it, if DB lived through whatever it was she was doing, he was going to wring her neck!

(-)

The takeoff passed without them realizing she was there; the shadows of the Blackbird were rather adept at hiding her form, but trying to stay hidden within them was another matter entirely. Ever since the business with Daleigh's nightmarish illusions and using her powers to keep contact with Rogue, Ashlynn's powers had become rather wonky; she hadn't worried, deciding it was simply an adjustment and had merely set her form inducer higher, putting a stronger current of electricity to keep her together. In her absent mindedness, this was what was making her attempts to remain the murky shadow a lot harder. It was a hell of a lot of concentration on her part – coupled with trying not to be seen, the strain was getting to her.

As the jet sped up, it became harder and she realized that the X-men were going to become conscious she was there sooner or later; it would be a lot less dangerous for everyone if she showed herself. But they weren't going to be happy she was around – especially Storm, who had made her promise to stay behind. If she could only keep it up for a little longer, she might be able to wait for them to go looking for Rogue, and then she could sneak out. If she found Rogue first then…then maybe they wouldn't be too angry with her, she reasoned.

Unaware of their stowaway, the team and Daleigh sat in tense silence, broken only by Logan's grumbling. After a long moment, pawing with the zipper of his uniform, he managed a snarky, "You actually go outside in these things?"

"What would you prefer? Yellow spandex?" Scott deadpanned, apparently unimpressed. He barely spared Logan a glance from his place in the cockpit. Earlier he had rather effortlessly dissuaded Daleigh's sudden ambition to be a pilot and was gripping the controls so hard Ashlynn was surprised they didn't break. It occurred to her that he was more tense about the fact that Logan was sitting so close to Jean than anything else. Logan opened his mouth to say something, but Scott's tone was laced with warning. "Say anything else and my glasses come off."

Logan let out a short bark of sardonic laughter. "Okay, that is officially the lamest threat I have ever – "

"Enough, both of you!" Storm chided. "Honestly, we don't have time for this. Concentrate on getting us there in one peace, Scott. And Logan, just…"

She trailed off, apparently not knowing what to tell the brawny regenerator. It wouldn't have mattered anyhow, because it was at that moment that Ash felt her powers waver. Her nerves were anxious enough as it was, and she couldn't keep her from pulling back into its bodily shape. She fell with a muffled thump onto the floor in the passenger area. Her sudden manifestation caused Daleigh to swear and the others to whirl around in surprise.

"Ashlynn!"

Their chorus of shock, annoyance and disappointment rang angrily in her ears, but she forced herself to meet their gazes as they craned around their seats to get a look at her.

"I'm sorry," she told them in a small voice, swallowing her nerves. "B-but…I wanted to come."

Logan snorted, shaking his head and gazed back _at_ his window. A moment later he had allowed his metallic claws to rip through the material of his uniform, examining them, pretending to be fascinated. Jean opened her mouth, as though to speak, and then turned on the grizzled man, her lips pursed. "You knew she was here? Why didn't you stop her?"

He shrugged, offering her a would-be-flirtatious grin, "Better question is why you didn't read my mind?"

If Jean didn't notice the implications, everyone else did. Scott especially, because the Blackbird veered slightly as his arms tensed, like he might let go of the steering to slug Logan. In the meantime, Ashlynn couldn't help wondering if her fellow Canadian believed she should be here as well. They had the common need to find Rogue, which united them in an odd way.

"This isn't a field trip," Storm cried, taking on the same mothering tone she usually adopted when talking to the girl. "Ashlynn, this is dangerous – not to mention we have better things to worry about than having to protect you should anything happen!"

She hung her head. The guilt was back, mixed with doubt as to whether or not she had made the right decision in coming along. "I wanted to help."

"You need to trust us," Jean told her, her expression trying to convey the gravity of the situation. Ashlynn knew what the seriousness was and couldn't help feeling restricted because didn't want to consider her thoughts on the matter. Was this the famous barrier between teenagers and adults that she had been hearing her fellow students complain of? Why was it manifesting at such a pivotal moment?

Her eyes rested on Daleigh, who was also taking an interest in this whole interchange. It suddenly hit her – why was Daleigh here? "'Ow come she is allowed to be here but I am not?"

The adults exchanged glances. Storm elected to be the one to speak up. "We need her powers to keep order."

"Then she's helping…why can't I?"

"Because…because Daleigh won't be going into the situation with us. She'll be safe, here in the Blackbird and if anything happens she'll be out of harms way. Her powers allow her to be able to project what she wants at a distance – for you to do anything you'd have to be in the thick of things with us, and we can't allow you to do that," Storm told her. "Your guardian entrusted you to us and besides, who in their good conscience could put a young girl into such a heated interchange when she doesn't even comprehend her own powers enough to control them on a regular basis?"

The words were cold and hard, a way to discourage Ashlynn from going ahead with her plan of helping to get Rogue back. She saw the sense in it and she could see the worries that Storm and the other instructors were trying to impress upon her, but instead of giving way to it, she could only focus on the matter that they didn't want her there. Never mind that Daleigh's powers had recently undergone a lapse which might make her control questionable, they still needed her. And not Ashlynn.

She realized arguing with them was futile, but also that they couldn't do anything to deal with her presence right then. And so, on pretext of agreeing with what Storm had said, she allowed the instructor to lead her to one of the seats and strap her in. Staring through the window, she decided that there would be time enough for her to come up with a plan of action; it wasn't like they could send her home or anything.

Up ahead, Scott mumbled something she couldn't quite catch, but instead of trying to eavesdrop on the conversation, she found herself too busy staring at what was beyond the reinforced glass of the jet. She had never seen the famous landmarks, the Statue of Liberty and the Brooklyn Bridge this close before, not even when she had been brought to the Institute. The memory of the silent six hour trip down with Ginette had been one of misery and fear; she hadn't wanted to come to a school for people like her. She'd thought it would be another trap, another madman trying to turn her into a science experiment.

She shuddered, closing off the memory just as soon as it threatened to make itself known. That was behind her. And right now, she was glad that she had come…and would be glad just as soon as they got Rogue and returned to the Institute.

She could still see the faint silhouette of the Bridge, the jet suspended closely; right when she was trying to figure out how no one was going to notice them, a thick, heavy fog rolled in from nowhere, obscuring everything from view. Askance, she glanced at the front; Storm was tensed, and when Ashlynn craned her neck, she saw that her eyes had misted over with the eerie white that always presented itself when she used her abilities. Scott moved, flipping a switch to turn on the infrared scanner.

Ashlynn wondered if it was his dislike of Logan or that there were more people tagging along on this venture than had been originally planned which was making him tense the way he was.

They were nearing the Statue of Liberty, hovering over the water; she could see the ripples in the surface as they gravitated away from the center of the jet. In the front she could hear Storm and Jean arguing ground covering tactics, while Cyclops turned off a few switches. He must have hit the wrong one, she thought, because the jet suddenly lost all of the balance it had had and fell the rest of the way onto the water.

Her heart leapt into her throat for a moment, but when the jet stabilized and she could feel it floating on the water, she relaxed.

"Sorry," Scott murmured.

Logan snorted, pulling off the safety harness. "You call that a landing?"

"More like a laking," Daleigh muttered.

She met Ashlynn's eyes, and right then Ashlynn could see that there was a difference in the other teen. The Celt;s eyes were lacking a bit of the usual resentful bite that had been there since they met. She was still sparking insolence, but there was a distinct glint of_something_. It took a further few minutes for Ashlynn to become aware that it was the tiniest speck of guilt.

'_Alors, elle sait qu'elle a fait quelque chose bête_,' the voice in her head echoed with an odd petulance. That she forcibly quelled, reprimanding it by the reminder that that was why the other girl was there.

"The torch…"

Everyone perked up when Scott spoke; Ashlynn needed to peer through the front windshield of the jet to make the connection between what he was said and what he was alluding to. Her stomach clenched at the sight of vague movement up on the statue's highest point. Although too far up to see what was going on, Ashlynn knew from her previous snooping that this was probably where Magneto had placed his doom machine. She realized with a wavering, nauseous feeling, that that was where Rogue was probably being kept.

"Let's go," Scott commanded, flipping a few switches which were keeping the Blackbird afloat and starting towards the gangplank; he was followed by a surly-looking Logan and then the two women. Storm paused behind Jean, her gaze fixed on the two teenaged girls. "Daleigh, as soon as we are gone, I want you to summon the strongest illusion you can to keep this whole business under wraps." The ginger-haired girl nodded and Ashlynn noticed that there was a faint tinge of green to her skin; she hoped it was just a reflection from the water below the jet.

Now Storm was focusing on her, her lips pursed in warning. "Ashlynn, you stay here. If anything happens, the two of you get out of here. Cyclops already set the auto-piloting coordinates to the mansion, all you need to do if something goes wrong is flip the switch and it will bring you right home. Got it?" Ashlynn nodded. "Under no circumstances are you to come after us – do the both of you understand that?"

The barest of nods came from both girls and when she was satisfied with them, Storm finally left.

The sound of the door closing was the last noise they heard before they were entirely alone with each other.

* * *

TBC 


	22. Volume Two: November 9, 2000 Part Two

_**Smoke and Mirrors  
by ErtheChilde**_

_**Disclaimer:**_**Yeah, so I figured it was time to disclaim this whole fic again, just to keep the crew happy and keep them from kicking me off like they've done to a whole bunch of my friends. Okay – all characters here, excepting Ashlynn and Daleigh, who belong to me and Meg respectively, are the property of Marvel and 20****th**** Century Fox (because of the whole movie timeline that I'm using). I'm not affiliated with them in any way, so don't come snarling after me for money, because I'm not doing this for money; I do it because I'm bored. That being said, enjoy the chapter.**

* * *

_Chapter Twenty-Two:_

Pyro was not happy.

Actually, that was an understatement – he was furious, anger radiating from him so hard that he was sure the heat was actually rising from his body. He hadn't spoken since he figured out that both DB and Ashes had gone, leaving him behind with the rest of the students, metaphorically keeping him at the kids table. This appeared to have unnerved the others, because Bobby and Pyotr had both asked him to leave the room lest he make the younger students nervous.

This had increased his ire, but he had conceded, considering even Pyotr seemed about ready to hit him; that was why he was now standing in the middle of the recreation room, alone, glaring at the walls around him, his fists clenched as though the very décor offended him. Framed pictures of past and present students lined the walls and the mantelpiece, the smiling faces mocking him. Of the ones showing his own class, recent ones that had been taken showing DB, Bobby, Pyotr – hell, even Ashes had been trapped in time, curled around one of her precious books – he was not among any of them.

A sensation rose up within him, mixing his rage with another emotion that he couldn't identify, and before he knew it, he was out of his mind. The flaming orbs flew from his hands, shattering and charring the photographs all around him. There was a sensation of pain that smoldered in his chest, from a wound he couldn't identify,

"Geeze, John…the term '_rec-room_' doesn't mean you actually have to wreck it."

An angry sneer on his lips, he turned to glare in the direction of the person who had interrupted his guilt-free destruction binge. Kitty Pryde was leaning in the doorway, attempting to come across as condescending but failing miserably in a flannel nightgown and huge cow shaped slippers. "Awful bold of you coming in here, Pryde. Or are you just stupid? Because seriously, I haven't got the patience for stupid people these days."

"Then how do you tolerate yourself?" The diminutive brunette asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Get out." He watched her roll her eyes and stride into the area among the smoldering ruins.

Pyro had never actually considered whether or not he liked Kitty; it was always fun to make fun of her for her good marks and Female-Bobby-Drake-Complex, but at the same time she was spunky and said what she meant. She'd never actually done anything to him to make him dislike her, or been one of the girly types – and so for the longest time he hadn't bothered overmuch with her.

At the moment, though, he hated her; he was actually considering throwing another flame at her but knowing she would probably just phase it through her, he decided against it. "That's the opposite of getting out."

"I'm so glad to see you can make kindergarten-level statements," she retorted, frowning at the photographs which had been reduced to embers. "Trust me, if you weren't creeping everyone out with your bursts of testosterone soaked angst, I wouldn't have intruded on your…cave." She picked up one of the broken borders and snorted. "Wow, you hate a lot of people. Must suck around the holidays, huh?"

"The idle chit chat? Not cool," he growled.

"The false bravado? Equally lame," she replied. "You know, if you eventually understand that this isn't all about you and get your head out of your butt, the better off we're all going to be."

"Who said this is about me?" Pyro demanded.

"You're a painfully transparent person, John," Kitty told him bluntly, placing one snapshot that had escaped John's rage back on the mantel. "I don't know why Jubilee and Siryn always gush about how complex you are. You're like a snot nosed kindergardner that got left behind on a field trip."

"Oh, I see how this is going to go," Pyro drawled angrily, mostly at the image she had just produced which had hit a little too close to home, "you're behind on your psychology homework and want to get extra credit by analyzing me? Newsflash, Pryde, I'm not good with shrinks. They tend to end up on fire."

"Newsflash, Allerdyce, if the instructors don't come back from this, there is no school and homework won't matter," Kitty shot back, folding her arms in front of her chest. "Or weren't you listening to Logan earlier?"

"Before or after he tried to carve out my throat, because it's all a little fuzzy."

"That was your own fault for mouthing off."

"If you're trying for another subject you can Ace just by being 'adorably tenacious',' he started scathingly, "you chose the wrong lab rat. I have a lot more fun and got a lot more experience getting C's than you do getting A's."

"You don't even get C's, you get D's," Kitty shot back.

"Yeah! That's how much fun I have! Which is why I don't give a shit about – "

"Yes, you do!" Kitty hissed, her expression unimpressed. "That's the whole point, John, you actually do. Or else you wouldn't be trying to demolish the school, you'd be off writing bad anguish ridden poetry!" Pyro's head jerked up and he gaped, not knowing whether to deny it or yell at her. Kitty didn't bother with that, instead sending him a poisonous glance. "Yeah, I know all about it…I can go through walls, remember? I could be the CIA of this place." She inhaled deeply, allowing him to think over her idle threat and then continued, "But it's all beside the point. You're worried."

"Am not – "

"You're worried about Daleigh because she's your girlfriend – "

"Ah, no, that would be where you're wrong."

"But you want her to be."

"You're about this close to knowing pain you've never known before."

"Oh come on, even the people who don't see it notice – you guys had a fight in private and then she stopped paying attention to you. And you enjoyed being the center of someone's world for a while, and now that you're not it bugs you to no end."

"That doesn't make me jealous or worried about her," John replied with cold warning in his tone. "That just makes me an attention whore. There's a huge difference. Meaning your theory's null and void, kiddo. _Next._"

Kitty sighed in exasperation, ostensibly figuring how futile it was to argue this particular position with John. He barely had a chance to enjoy this minor triumph before she recovered whatever thread was keeping her here talking to him and continued. "And what about the instructors and Ash?"

"One less freak for me to worry about."

"I meant as a collective," Kitty deadpanned, rubbing her temple as though he was giving her a headache. "If they don't come back, this place loses the few people that have made it safe for us. They might close the school. And where does that leave kids like us?"

"Well, you get to go home to Mommy and Daddy and talk over your options like a sensible little genius then," John mocked, settling back on the ruined couch. "I'm sure such a close knit family will be happy to keep you sheltered for the rest of your miserable life."

It wasn't hard for Kitty to hear the bitterness in his voice, and so he was surprised when she sat next to him and cocked her head to one side. "And you? Will your parents help you?"

"Don't care," John replied heavily, working very hard to keep himself uninterested and offhand. "This place shuts down, I've got my own plan." He turned physically and considered her, mock seriously. "It's a good plan, too."

"What?"

"Well, seeing as the professor has about fifty cars down in that garage – "

"You can't steal those!" Kitty cried, horrified.

John looked at her in disgust. "I'm not going to steal them. The term is '_borrow'_ and it's not plural, it's singular." He paused and smirked. "See? I can be a grammar nerd too."

Kitty still didn't give the impression of being mollified. "But why…why would you steal a car? Where would you go?"

"That's the beauty of it. No clue," John smiled at the ceiling, leaning back against the couch.

"And that's your…plan?" She echoed in disbelief.

"Uh huh."

"Oh."

She went quiet. He wanted to relish in the silence after having tried to get her to stop talking for so long, but there was an eerie feeling in it that he didn't like. It felt like judgment – and he'd never been good with judgment. "What?"

"Only the fact that your planning to hit the road with no money, no support, into a world where people hate you and you have issues with controlling your temper," Kitty told him. "Other than that, great plan." He noticed the sarcasm right away and decided he didn't like it. "Come on, John, why not go home?"

"Because there is no home," he told her angrily, standing up. And then, it dawned on him that he'd divulged more to this girl than anyone else, he whirled around and glared. "And I'm deciding that this is no longer any of your fucking business."

Not that she cared.

"But there's more than just running away – you could probably find someone around here who would help you, the Professor has lots of friends even if they aren't mutants – I mean, I know you're not exactly a glass-half-full kind of guy, but there are still a few drops in there if you check real close. You don't have to toss the whole damn glass away already."

"Too late," he sneered. "The metaphoric glass's shattered. Makes a pretty mess, too – hope you step on every piece when you leave the room!" He hauled open the door and sent her one last threatening glower. "Go find someone else to psychoanalyze, Pryde. "**  
**

He disappeared and Kitty heard him stalking loudly up the stairs. It would seem that would be the end of John's tantrums for the night, she decided. The girl sighed and sat back on the ash-covered couched. "There's nothing like shared misery to bring people together…"

(-)

For the longest time, the two girls could only stare at one another with the faintest inkling of what should have been said, but neither made the move to do anything about it. Ashlynn figured it to be reluctance on her part and maybe stubbornness on Daleigh's; either way it increased tenfold with each passing second.

The fact that they were in the middle of one of the most nerve-wracking situations of her life (at least since coming to the institute) was not lost upon her. Her lips trembled slightly; across from her, Daleigh nibbled at her nails and glanced outside of the jet. They could still see the very faint outlines of the X-Men disappearing into the fog.

It was cold in the jet. She hadn't noticed until that exact second, most likely because she was desperately keeping her attention on all but the other girl. The silence was getting to her, making her all the more edgy about what was going on and all the more foolish about coming along. It was almost tangible, snapping at her from the very air and she soon found herself, with painstaking effort, breaking it.

"I…I…" Daleigh blinked, focusing on her, an odd sort of expectant countenance as Ashlynn struggled with her words. "I'm going to find Rogue."

The other teen stared in disbelief. Before Ashlynn managed to get up the nerve to finally start towards the door, Daleigh snorted, "I thought you were goin' in a whole different direction with that one."

"_Pardon?"_

"Like, I don't know, an apology," Daleigh shrugged, and then pretended to clean a lint ball from her uniform.

"Apology?" Ashlynn repeated. "For what?"

The other girl went from calm, to indignant in less than a second, her cheeks tinged with an angry red that was visible even in the semi-darkness of the jet. "For wha – well let's start with the fact you tattled to Bobby about what happened with Rogue and now he thinks I bloody well dragged her from the mansion meself!"

"You might as well 'ave," Ashlynn replied quietly, putting effort into gaining a more imposing ground by crossing her arms and frowning. From the manner in which Daleigh was raising her eyebrows and not giving up, she knew she was probably failing miserably. Still, flustered thinking kept her from losing her resolve just yet. "You could 'ave stopped 'er if you weren't so scared."

"Scared?!" Daleigh snarked. "This coming from the bird that turns into a puff o' smoke the minute someone so much as breathes on 'er?"

"That's not my fault," she managed after a pause, pointedly ignoring the barb of hurt that Daleigh's remark had struck.

"Oh, an' I suppose you're psychologically conditioned to freak out whenever anyone goes near ye?"

Ashlynn bit her lips, wondering if it was not just easier to walk away from the conversation without dealing with the confrontational Irishwoman. She knew that Daleigh made a valid point, that she had no business lecturing her on behavior when she should have had her own wing in a psychiatric ward, but at the same time she desperately wanted to clear up the matter. It annoyed her that such an important quality was amiss in her life and she decided if it was ever going to be resolved, it might as well be then.

"Yes."

For unknown reasons, that stopped Daleigh completely in her tracks, which surprised Ashlynn. She made a face at the comment, opened her mouth to speak, and then paused again, fixing Ashlynn with an unreadable gaze. The other girl had shown in the past that she was the shrewd type, the type of person who questioned anything and scoffed at what didn't make sense or had to have been fabulated. And so when she asked, in a low voice which lacked all of her previous anger, as though it had been drained right out of her, Ashlynn couldn't help but feel worried. "You're tellin' the truth, aren't you?"

It was the first time Ashlynn had ever hinted about what had happened to her before coming to the institute, but even with its vagueness, she couldn't help feeling suddenly exposed. Unable to say another word, in case her throat close up, she merely nodded, swallowing convulsively.

If the stillness before the outburst had been awkward, it was nothing to what followed. Once again the teenagers watched each other suspiciously, as though at any moment the other might attack.

"And…I am sorry," she managed after a moment, eyeing the illusionist. "Not for telling Bobby – 'e did 'ave a right to know," she hesitantly glanced at Daleigh, relieved to see any kind of acknowledgement pass over her before she continued, "I mean for…if I 'urt you when I got angry…when Rogue…that night." She finished lamely.

Silence. She half-expected another emotional outburst of yelling and insults.

Instead, Daleigh stood, momentarily startling Ashlynn.

When she shot a questioning gaze at her, the illusionist shrugged and reached for the panel to the door. "This ain't a field trip we're along for, ye know," she said as the door slid open and the foggy night air sifted inside. "I need to get to the top of the jet so I can see what the hell I'm doin'. Otherwise I'm not much use, aye?" Her hand moved towards the panel again and then she stopped, cocking her head to one side as she considered Ashlynn. "You know, I've got to concentrate or I'll end up making a right hames of it if I play babysitter to you, hear?"

She had not anticipated this; and when she opened her mouth to say so, Daleigh pointed outside with a rather snappish gesture. "Do ye need a note or somewhat? Why're you still here?"

She didn't need to be told twice; she was already hurrying out of the jet, shifting only slightly to fix Daleigh with a thankful glance and murmur a quiet, "_Merci"_ before disappearing into the night.

While it had been cold in the jet, it was very humid outside; she wasn't sure if this was because of Storm's abilities or because it had always been like this. It was also eerily quiet; she wondered where everyone was – not just the X-men who seemed to have all-but disappeared, but the security officers. This was the Statue of Liberty. It didn't make sense that it was so open and that she was walking into the building, cool as she pleased. She was beginning to wonder if maybe there really was no one around –

And then she saw it.

It wasn't the first time she had seen a dead body, but it was the first time she had been this close to one. Lying half a meter away, crumpled into the gravel of the island lay a corpse, dressed in the uniform of a harbor man, his back twisted backwards into an impossible position. His eyes were open and staring up at the sky with the vague surprise of a person who'd been caught unawares.

She felt sick, and not knowing what else she was supposed to do, she took off at a run.

She heard screaming from above her, and felt her heart drop when she realized the screams were intermixed with pleas for help; pleas that happened to come from Rogue. She would be able to get there in time the same way the X-men had, and yet by now she could feel the lethargy of her overused powers.

Biting her lips, she glanced down at her form**-**inducer; if she turned it off she would be able to move about freely, but what if there was a problem where she might need to be corporal? Could she trust herself to be able to focus her strength well enough to do so, especially in a high stress situation like a rescue?

She glanced back towards the jet, where Daleigh was already standing, her entire body tensed in anticipation as she focused on her illusions. Hadn't she just recovered from a burst of power that had left her drained? Ashlynn thought. If the other girl could do it, what was stopping her? The words of the professor drifted in her mind.

'_Your mutant abilities are evolving at a level I hadn't foreseen they would…they render you temporarily indestructible…in all my years, I have never seen such possibility in one entity…it is almost as though there is no door closed to you. In your molecular state, you are more mobile, more agile and able to bend the abilities of others to your will…your mutation makes you almost like a genetic chameleon.'_

She squinted up at the statue's torch, knowing instinctively that this was where the screams were coming from. It was a distance, there was no joking in that; what if she got up there and found herself completely weakened? The altitude might mess with her powers as well.

'_You might join the X-Men – with you on our side, we could make such a difference in the way human beings look at us.'_

'_So I can be your weapon?'_

"Somebody help me! PLEASE!"

'_There are those who believe mutants harbor resentful, destructive sentiments towards human beings. You are proof enough that the last thing on your mind is injury to others – humans and mutants alike. Such an intent belief in keeping people from harm is not strong in anyone that __is currently at this school…the point is, your determination to keep to that ideal might spread to people around you. And for that reason, I won't allow you to believe that what you are, what you can do, is a curse.'_

A long forgotten wall inside her broke; with one deft movement, she ripped the form**-**inducer from her wrist and frowned in concentration. She didn't want to completely give up her form, in case it was too difficult to get it back, but she needed to make herself a lot lighter to get to Rogue.

Tensing up, she concentrated on making every vestige of herself lighter, the same way she usually turned into the cloud of ashy molecules, but this time she tried to keep picturing herself retaining her humanoid form. The wind itself needed to be able to lift her, as it might lift dust.

At first there was nothing, but she remembered it had been like this the first time she had tried to bend molecules around her body to save herself from the laser screen or to reach out to Rogue. The professor had said she could do whatever came to her mind…than she should be able to do this.

The repetitive doubt was there, always telling her she couldn't, saying what she could do was dangerous and hurt people…how would she hurt people if she was going to save the only true friend she had ever had?

It happened so fast she nearly let go of the ball of tension keeping herself together; the breeze became buoyant, like water that she could float through and glancing down, she gasped when she saw that her skin and clothes had become a dusky, ash color, like wisps of smoke pulled into a solid form. Her body was still there, she hadn't molecularized into the formless cloud, but she was moving into the heavens with ease that her corporal body would never have allowed.

She was flushed at her success, and for the first time in her lift, felt the sense of accomplishment that came with mastering the strange gifts that had been hers for so long. The higher she rose, the easier it was to maintain her form, as the air was cold and causing her atoms to stay closer together, almost like the form**-**inducer did with electricity. In the darkness, she was just another shadow, unseen but there all the same. In the distance, she could make out the bright lights of the city, as awake as if it were daytime. All of the buildings she had glimpsed in pictures or on the news – the Empire State, the Chrysler Building, the World Trade Center – it all blazed amazingly alive in the dark lights.

Her astonishment at the sensations assaulting her from all sides nearly distracted her from what she was supposed to be doing – until she heard Rogue screaming again, in a kind of tortured agony and fear that nearly had Ashlynn falling out of the sky.

With renewed vigor, she forced herself higher, nearing the edge of the statue**'**s Torch; down below she could hear conversation, raised voices drifting upwards, but paid them no heed, instead concentrating on landing herself in the torch and bringing herself back together.

The torch had been hollowed out into a compartment, wherein a strange machine stood. Chained to it by two orbs was her friend. Rogue's tearstained face gazed at her in shocked admiration as Ashlynn felt her feet touch the ground; despite her newfound ability, she was much more comfortable with solid ground holding her up in the place of the atmosphere.

"Ash…!"

"We 'ave to 'urry," Ash told her, immediately reaching towards the girl with the intention of releasing her from the handcuffs. There was a sudden explosion of fireworks in the distance which nearly kept her from maintaining her balance. At first when she reached out, Rogue shrank away, but then a flicker of realization took over. "We're going 'ome, okay, Rogue?"

It struck both of them in that moment that neither had been able to call a place home for a long time. The idea that now she had a place to go, and indeed, a friend to share it with, was staggering. As Ash digested this, she could see the same feeling taking root in her friend's mind as well.

For the first time in a long time, she felt herself smiling.

It didn't last long.

To her consternation, Rogue suddenly whimpered and pulled away. Before Ashlynn could comment on it, a voice behind her interrupted,

"What's this?" Ashlynn froze at the amused drawl. "An uninvited guest it appears."

Unconscious of her movements, she turned and placed herself between Rogue and the stranger. Without any introduction, she knew that this had to be Magneto, for the simple reason that the man commanded as much presence as Professor Xavier– but none of the sympathy. She hadn't expected him to be so old, with the grandfatherly twinkle in his eye and the odd curve to his mouth that suggested he could see a joke that she could not. In fact, in her mind she had made Magneto out to be a stern, ruthless man, rugged and stubbornly imposing himself on others. And yet, as she staredat their enemy now, she decided that this countenance was all the more disturbing – for the simple reason that his intentions were easily hidden by his disarming demeanor.

"I won't let you 'urt 'er," she told him, more bravely than she felt, and drawing herself up as though she was getting ready to fight. There must have been an outward sign of her uncertainty, having never actually consciously used her abilities against anyone, for he merely chuckled and made a dismissing wave with his hand. For a second she remained standing, frowning in confusion – and then out of nowhere, she was thrown into the night sky, a metal disk bearing down on her towards the black darkness of the water below.

She cried out, could hear Rogue shrieking in horror. It was this which returned her to her senses and forced her to explode into the infinity of herself, a swirling cloud of particles that the metal disk flew harmlessly through.

It was easier to get to the top this time, knowing what she was doing she used the wind to propel her voyage and rematerialized again on the cusp of the torch – just in time to see Magneto reach out and grab a hold of Rogue's face. For a second, all time stopped, glinting on all three expressions of shock. Although there were no words or sound, she had a feeling that both Rogue and Magneto were silently screaming in pain from the identical grimace on both faces.

Without considering the ramifications, she dove forward, gripping the old man's shoulders with all of her strength and wrenched him away from Rogue. He toppled to one side, staggering out of the tiny compartment within the torch; Ashlynn let him go, attention focusing on her friend in horror. Rogue's eyes had widened, her hands suddenly clasping violently over the orbs. An unnatural white glow surrounded her hands, pulsing as it began to expand. Ashlynn strode forward, reaching once again for Rogue to get her from the machine, but felt as though she had been turned to mud all of a sudden.

Rogue's gaze was unwavering as it stared at her, tinted with a horror that spoke volumes more than any shriek would have; unable to move, Ash stared down at her hands. A sick feeling encompassed her as she watched her fingers began to tremble and dissolve – but not in the organized chaos that she could usually control – becoming sucked towards the unnatural white field that was emanating from Rogue.

"ASHLYNN!"

She could hear her friend, and yet there was no comprehension. She could feel herself coming apart from everywhere, and a strangely foreign feeling, of a force burning her with electric heat from all around, renting her into shreds of herself with the stronger the force became. Her hands and arms were gone now, still eating into her elbows, and the searing pull at her face told her that it was beginning to erode as well, disappearing into the force. She was paralyzed, wanting to cry out in the sensation of pain, but the entire front of her face and throat were gone, along with her vocal chords. She was choking and there was no oxygen, just a sucking void and Rogue's anguished screams.

And then there was absolutely nothing.

(-)

Daleigh could feel warmth trickling down from the tension in her head, dripping from her nose and rolling over her lips. The coppery taste told her that it was blood, but her brain didn't seem to want to heed the message.

In the distance from where she stood on the X-Jet, she could see the tiny, ant-sized form of the president and UN dignitaries gathered on Ellis Island. Her arms were outstretched, tensed and cramped, but she kept them up, wholly determined not to let those people down there discover the seismic battle that was happening here. Instead of watching a man flying up in the sky, they saw the fireworks at their best – instead of hearing the anguished cries of a wild animal or the scuffle taking place on the crown of the Statue, they saw clear waters reflecting the Lady Liberty in all her glory. And instead of seeing the horrendous white cloud which emanated from the torch, or the frantically revolving machine that had burst from the stone confines, they saw only the skylight of the Bay.

Her entire body burned, and she didn't even want to acknowledge the pulling pressure invading her head as she strove to keep up the appearance of calm. She had tried to go as long as she could without calling up the illusions to the night sky, but there was no helping it now. The odd white field was continuing to grow, and it occurred to her suddenly that making people unable to see it wouldn't mean a thing if they were hit by the strange, mutating burst. And so – even though every smart cell that God had ever given her warned her away from pulling so dangerous a stunt at such a pressing time – she called up the image of an imperceptible wall surrounding the Statue of Liberty, like an enormous glass wall the stretched to the heavens and down.

The strain burned like thousands of needles in her mind, each one pricking deeper than the last. She could feel her muscles weakening, her grip on the illusion becoming harder to hold.

An uproar of screams carried across the water and she blinked, swearing when she realized in the attempt to put up the barricade and fight the reality all at the same time, the white light seemed to have poked a hole in her defense, escaping into the night sky and reaching over towards the UN's meeting place.

"Shite!" she hissed, sounding like dead leaves being crunched under foot. A terrible nausea was fighting itself up her throat, the acidic bile burning her insides as her mind singed the rest of her. She reached towards the leak, visualizing herself scooping it back within the invisible barrier.

Down below, she could see boats, the Coast Guard most like, sailing towards Liberty with such speed they would likely make it there before she collapsed from exhaustion. Gripping her hands, she forced the light to disappear, hoping that in their view it would seem natural and slow their progress. At the same time, she stepped up the fireworks, intent to make it seem like it was just a malfunction with the night entertainment. If anyone showed up here now, they would be caught in the crossfire.

The blood was pumping through her more violently now, and the small trickle of blood attesting to her effort had become a gush, as though there was a snapped vein somewhere in her head. Tears of red were seeping from her eyes, but she refused to let go. Watching it all unfold before her was agony, knowing she could do no more than keep it all bottled together.

She knew at that moment that she was probably going to die of a brain hemorrhage, or from suffocation because she was so exhausted she'd forgotten to breathe. But as much as she hated that knowledge, she was determined to keep going. It was her damned fault that Rogue was in this mess, which made it her fault that this Magneto creep had gotten his hands on her. So she was damned well going to make up for it, whether it meant she died in her usual stubborn manner or not.

A devil-may-care cackle escaped her throat, and a familiar madness rose up from deep within her, blotting out all coherent, sane thought in her head. She let go of every last shred of restraint, pulling at the out of control projection that usually brought with it mazes of her memory and tortuous prisons. If this Magneto, this would-be murderer wanted to know the meaning of travesty, she was about to show it to him.

"You wanna make your name in massacre?" she hissed, glaring towards the broken torch where she was sure this faceless enemy was; she could see the faint outline of two people, one poised above the spinning machine threateningly, the other crawling over a railing, arm outstretched. She could only imagine what must be happening up there, but at the same time, she didn't care enough to find out. She was going to go out with a bang, and by hell, she was going to enjoy it. "It's about time I showed ye a massacre worth dyin' for!"

The light was getting brighter and brighter, fighting against her power. Gritting her teeth so hard that she was surprised that she hadn't broken any molars, she tried to divert the path of the mutation field, pulling it in towards the statue in grasping motions. She knew that it was harmless to mutants, but wondered if enough concentration in one place might increase its radiation. Actually, she didn't really care. The dark part of her was rash, wanting to do everything at the same time, her mind running in so many different directions it was like the world had suddenly opened up before her. A rising tide rolled over her, filling her with a careless abandon that made everything happening mean nothing.

'_Fallacy, you'll not cross me again.'_

'_Oh yeah? I've still some will left; try to stop me_."

Daleigh gasped, feeling as though she had just been laid into by a pair of furious fists. There was laughing, the rush scent of blood and the ripple of crazed ferocity as the energy whipped out of her, coating the night sky in an illusion that fooled even her.

Just as quickly, the whisper of memory disappeared in the rippling pain, replaced byanother feeling…a sensation of euphoria – she was high on the air around her, the unknown sense, the strange self that had emerged in the throws of weakness, filling her up with its fullness. Stars and blots spiraled before her, a dizziness mixing with the sick feeling threatening to topple her now, just when it was all becoming important.

The winds around her were violent, wreaking the aftermath of Storm and Jean; the sudden blast of crimson across the sky, followed by the explosion from the torch suddenly achieved what she couldn't. The white net reaching across the sky disappeared, as though sucked back through a void.

As strong as it had started, the pain and tension lessened exponentially.

The pressure of keeping the light trapped within the mesh of imagination washed away, as though by a river, and the ache released. Daleigh could breathe again.

Falling slowly to her knees, she braced herself against the floor, willing her power to slowly roll back into her; if she allowed her energy to flood back to her body, she might go into shock or arrest. As it was, with each second that brought back her illusions, making them one with her again, it was easier to hold herself up. Trembling, she reached up to wipe the blood from her face.

Somehow she was still standing – or crouching, rather – but still conscious, a fact she hadn't expected when she threw out her full artillery. Her entire frame was shaking, so terribly she could barely keep herself sitting. The heavy uniform was soaked with blood and perspiration, even though she hadn't actually seen battle. It was more effort than she had put into anything.

Just for a second, she wanted to sleep, and actually lay down on the cool metal of the Blackbird. Her eyes were half-lidded as the power pulled back to her, making her seize up with almost epileptic shakes.

"Ah, god, I feel terrible," she groaned to no one, "Aw shite, I'm sobering up…god, I wish I was dead…"

The world dimmed for a moment, threatening her with unconsciousness, but she refused to give in. She would not bloody well faint like a prissy southern belle! Determined, she cast about for a thought or way to ground herself to consciousness. As luck would have it, she spied a strange shape in the night sky where the white field had been.

Whatever it was seemed to be growing, amassing itself from all over the sky into a small point. Daleigh squinted, infinitely curious at the strange amorphous blob of shadow that was pulling itself together high above her. It was falling as it pulled together, slowly taking on a vaguely humanoid figure.

She then grasped what – or rather who – it was just as the figure plummeted into the waters below the statue. Just as Ashlynn's head disappeared below the surface of the water, Daleigh felt the die-hard abandon that had taken over during her ordeal begin to break around her. Her worries were flooding back to her now, the ones she hadn't bothered thinking of while on her power high –

She had been the one to tell Ash to go find Rogue. A long forgotten feeling, the sensation of being accountable for another person and being liable for the younger girl, bubbled up from inside. Daleigh had to do something…the French girl might have been almost indestructible, but even she needed to breathe.

She tried to pull up her strength, anything that might bring the girl up from the waves.

The world rushed in at her again threateningly and she fell back, groaning.

She didn't even have the strength to conjure up a simple floatation ring.

Her brain was protesting from the stress, but it was her last hope. Stretching her mind as far as she could, she tried to reach Jean. She normally abhorred reaching out to telekinetics, but this occasion called for it. It was painful to think, and so she tried to repeat it over and over in her mind, like a mantra, beating it out towards Jean. The redheaded doctor had to hear her, or it was going to be another death on her head.

'Wait…another death…?' every notion was muddled together, and just as she was beginning to hit on a thought, Jean's mind connected with her own.

'_Where is she, Daleigh?'_

'_The river,'_ she managed, relaxing with relief, the thought disappearing as the distraction presented itself. Anything that happened now was no longer her problem; she'd done what she'd set out to do, and in her mind, had earned a shit load of brownie points as well…

* * *

TBC 


End file.
